I  ! 


In. 


COMEDY  QUEENS 


OF 


THE    GEORGIAN    ERA 


BY 


JOHN    FYVIE 

AUTHOR  OF   'some  FAMOUS  WOMEN  OF  WIT  AND  BEAUTY, 
'  LITERAEY   ECCENTRICS,'  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

E.    P.    DUTTON    AND    COMPANY 

1907 


^^8R 


Edinburgh  :  T.  and  A,  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 


PREFACE 

This  book  does  not  profess  to  be  a  theatrical  history.  It 
is  simply  a  series  of  biographical  sketches  of  some  of  the 
most  prominent  English  comedy  actresses  of  the  Georgian 
period.  As  Leigh  Hunt  remarked,  most  people  are  more 
eager  to  hear  of  actors  and  actresses  than  of  the  members 
of  other  professions,  and  in  reading  accounts  of  them 
most  of  us  incline  more  to  the  comic  than  the  tragic,  and 
more  to  the  women  than  the  men.  But  a  record  of  the 
strictly  professional  career  of  an  actor  or  actress  is  apt  to 
become  a  mere  dry  chronicle  of  successive  representations. 
I  have  therefore  dealt  with  these  ladies,  so  far  as  was 
possible,  more  from  the  private  than  the  professional 
point  of  view  ;  and  I  hope  that,  in  addition  to  the  interest 
of  the  separate  personalities,  these  brief  biographies  may  be 
found  to  have  a  further  interest  as  a  series  of  character- 
sketches  of  a  dozen  representative  women  who,  in  the 
course  of  the  eighteenth  century,  attained  to  eminence 
in  the  only  profession  then  open  to  their  sex.  There  is 
also  another  reason  for  dealing  with  them  from  the  personal 
rather  than  from  the  professional  standpoint.  Colley 
Gibber  lamented  that  the  animated  graces  of  the  player 
could  live  no  longer  than  '  the  instant  breath  and  motion 


f^'  U  \J  fJ  (~J  ^ 


vi  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 
that  presents  them.'  Even  in  these  days  of  bioscope  and 
phonograph,  the  disability  remains.  When  the  curtain 
falls  and  the  play  is  played,  all  '  the  youth,  the  grace,  the 
charm,  the  glow'  pass  into  an  oblivion  from  which  they 
can  never  be  resuscitated.  But  behind  the  mask  there  is 
always  a  human  being;  and  more  often  than  not,  one  of 
a  peculiarly  interesting  type.  Moreover,  the  lives  of  few 
women  in  any  station  of  life  contain  such  adventures,  or 
exhibit  such  vicissitudes  as  do  those  of  actresses;  and 
the  reader  will  find,  in  the  authentic  records  of  the  careers 
of  these  twelve  women,  stories  as  strange  as  any  to  be  found 
in  the  whole  range  of  fiction. 

Nothing  is  more  evanescent  than  the  actor's  fame;  and 
notwithstanding  the  Memoirs,  which  some  of  these  ladies 
wrote  for  themselves  and  which  others  had  written  for 
them,  they  have  mostly  left  only  the  vaguest  memory 
behind.  So  far  as  their  professional  fascination  is  con- 
cerned, this  was  inevitable;  so  far  as  their  personality  is 
concerned,  it  is  by  no  means  unintelligible.  For,  truth  to 
say,  in  spite  of  their  varied  attractiveness,  their  high 
spirits,  their  frankness,  their  humour,  even  the  best  cf  the 
theatrical  memoirs  of  the  eighteenth  century  are  usually 
so  garrulous,  so  long-winded,  so  incoherent,  so  inaccurate ; 
and  some  of  them  are  so  illiterate,  vulgar,  and  positively 
indecent,  that  few  modern  readers  have  the  patience  to 
wade  through  them.  But  there  is  good  stuft"  in  some  of 
these  old  and  mostly  forgotten  Meonoirs,  if  a  man  will  but 
observingly  distil  it  out.     In  the  following  sketches  I  have 


PREFACE  vii 

endeavoured  to  extract  the  essence  of  a  whole  library  of 
such  productions.  It  will  be  seen  by  experts  that  I  have 
formed  an  estimate  of  the  characters  of  some  of  these 
once-celebrated  ladies  which  is  different  from  that  tradi- 
tionally held ;  but  in  a  book  intended  for  the  general  reader 
it  was  considered  unadvisable  to  encumber  the  pages  with 
footnotes ;  and  the  sources  of  information  on  which  I  have 
relied  will  be  found  sufficiently  indicated  in  the  text.  I 
regret  to  have  to  say  that  I  have  been  unable  to  examine 
the  335  letters  from  Mrs.  Jordan  to  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
(afterwards  William  iv.),  which  were  sold  at  Sotheby's  in 
May  last;  and  that  other  possessors  of  letters  and  docu- 
ments relating  to  Mrs.  Jordan  have  been  unwilling  to  let  me 

see  them. 

J.  F. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction,           .......  1 

Lavinia  Fenton,  Duchess  of  Bolton  (1708-1760)          .            .  27 

Charlotte  Charke  (1710-1760),    .....  42 

Catherine  Clive  (1711-1785),        .....  74 

Margaret  Woffington  (1720-1760),         ....  110 

George  Anne  Bellamy  (1731-1788),         .          ^           .            .  141 

Frances  Abington  (1737-1815),     .....  200 

Sophia  Baddeley  (1742-1780),       .....  231 

Elizabeth  Farren,  Countess  of  Derby  (1759  ?-1829),  .            .  255 

Mary  Robinson — 'Perdita' — (1758-1800),            .           .            .  274 
Mary  Sumbel—' Becky  '  Wells— (1759-1826  ?),    .            .           .315 

Dora  Jordan  (1762-1816),  ......  356 

Harriot  Mellon,  Duchess  of  St.  Albans  (1777  7-1837),          .  399 

Index,            ........  439 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Strolling  Actresses  Rehearsing  in  a  Barn, 

Margaret  Woffinqton, 
Frances  Abington,  .... 
Sophia  Baddeley,    .... 
Elizabeth  Faruen,  Countess  of  Derby, 
Mary  Sumbel  ('Becky'  Wells),   . 
Dora  Jordan,  .... 

Harriot  Mellon,  Duchess  of  St.  Albans, 


Frontispiece 


AT  PAOB 

110 
200 
231 
255 
315 
356 
399 


INTRODUCTION 

We  shall  be  very  apt  to  form  an  erroneous  estimate  of 
the  characters  of  the  stage  stars  whose  romantic  careers 
form  the  subject  of  this  volume,  if  we  fail  to  remind  our- 
selves at  the  outset  of  the  great  difference  between  the 
social  position  of  actors  and  actresses  in  the  present  day 
and  their  status  in  the  eighteenth  century.  They  had  by 
no  means  then  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  traditional 
classical  and  ecclesiastical  degradation.  Plato  had  banished 
plays  and  players,  as  well  as  poetry  and  poets,  from  his 
ideal  Republic.  Aristotle  had  held  that  the  law  should 
forbid  young  people  to  witness  comedies.  Tacitus  had 
significantly  remarked  that  the  German  women  kept  their 
honour  out  of  harm's  way  by  reason  of  there  being  no  play- 
houses amongst  them.  Cicero  had  put  it  on  record  that 
from  the  earliest  times  the  Romans  had  counted  all  stasre- 
plays  discreditable  and  scandalous,  insomuch  that  any 
Roman  who  turned  actor  was  disincorporated  and  un- 
naturalised  by  order  of  the  Censors.  Livy  had  said  that 
common  players  were  not  thought  good  enough  for  common 
soldiers.  The  Christian  Church  had  carried  on  the  tradi- 
tion. The  first  and  second  Councils  of  Aries  had  laid  down 
a  canon  of  excommunication  against  players,  so  long  as 
they  continued  to  act.  Another  Council  in  a.d.  424  had 
declared  '  that  the  testimony  of  people  of  ill-reputation,  of 
players,  and  others  of  such  scandalous  employments,  shall 
not  be  admitted   against   any  person.'     And    the  general 

A 


2   COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

opinion  of  the  Church  throughout  the  Middle  Ages  appears 
to  have  been  in  agreement  with  St.  Augustine,  who  com- 
mended  the   Romans    for   refusing   the    Jus   Civitatis   to 
players.     After  the  rise  of  the  secular  drama  in  our  own 
country,  the  39  Eliz.  Cap.  4,  and  the  1  Jac.  Cap.  7  enacted 
that '  all  bear- wards,  common  players  of  interludes,  counter- 
feit Egyptians,  etc.,  shall  be  taken,  adjudged,  and  deemed 
Rogues    and   Vagabonds   and   Sturdy   Beggars,   and    shall 
sustain  all  pain  and  punishment  as  by  this  Act  is  in  that 
be-behalf  appointed ' ;  and  although  the  first  of  these  Acts 
excepted  those  players  who  belonged  to  a  Baron  or  other 
personage  of  higher  degree,  and  were  authorised  to  play  under 
the  hand  and  seal  of  such  Baron  or  personage,  the  second 
Act  made  no  such  exception.     Macaulay  relates  that  at  the 
trial  of  Lord  Mohun  by  his  peers  for  the  murder  of  William 
Mountford,  an  actor,  in  1692,  when  the  peers,  by  sixty-nine 
to  fourteen,  acquitted  their  accused  brother,  one  great  noble- 
man could  not  understand  why  so  great  a  fuss  should  be 
made  about  so  small  a  matter,  seeing  that  'after  all,  the 
fellow  was  but  a  player,  and  players  are  rogues.'     According 
to  a  statute  passed  in  the  last  year  of  Queen  Anne's  reign, 
country  actors  were  still  reckoned  among  rogues  and  vaga- 
bonds ;    and  as  recently  as  1809,  a  writer  on  the  subject 
declared  that  the  penalty  of  imprisonment  (though  not  of 
whipping)  had   been    enforced    against   country   actors   of 
eminence   '  within   living    memory.'      In   the   earlier    part 
of  the  eighteenth  century  anybody  might  insult  an  actor 
with  impunity;    and  if  he  were  thrashed  by  a  person  of 
quality,  neither  he  nor  anybody  else  would  have  dreamed 
that   he   had    any  right   to   retaliate.      Of  course,  in   the 
theatrical  profession,  as  in  every  other,  there  have  always 
been  exceptional  individuals  whose  character  and  abilities 
(especially  if  they  managed  to  acquire  a  little  wealth)  have 
raised  them  into  the  highest  society  of  their  time.     But  in 


INTRODUCTION  3 

the  case  of  actors  it  was  always  quite  apparent  that  they 
were  only  there  on  sufferance,  and  were  tolerated  because 
they  were  amusing.  It  was  thought  a  stinging  satire,  for 
example,  when  'Junius,'  incidentally  addressing  Garrick, 
wrote — '  now  mark  me,  vagabond ;  keep  to  your  pantomimes 
or  be  assured  you  shall  hear  of  it.'  For  a  parallel  to  this 
we  should  have  to  imagine  that  a  clerk  in  a  Government 
office  could  feel  his  social  position  to  be  so  infinitely  above 
that  of  an  actor  as  to  justify  him  in  using  such  language  to 
a  Tree  or  a  Wyndham. 

Everybody  knows  what  were  Dr.  Johnson's  sentiments 
about  play-actors.  When  some  one  once  spoke  of  the 
meanness  of  flattering  the  Queen  on  the  stage,  Johnson 
warmly  asked  how  that,  or  anything  else,  could  be  mean 
in  '  a  player — a  showman — a  fellow  who  exhibits  himself  for 
a  shilling.'  And  when  Richardson's  opinion  of  Gibber  was 
cited,  the  old  moralist  became  very  scornful  on  the  absur- 
dity of  talking  about  respect  for  a  player !  '  Do  you  respect 
a  rope-dancer,  or  a  ballad-singer  ? '  said  he ;  '  what,  sir,  a 
fellow  who  claps  a  hump  on  his  back  and  a  lump  on  his 
legs  and  cries  /  am  Richard  the  Third  V  In  1762,  in  his 
farce  of  The  Liar,  Foote  made  the  valet,  Papillon,  say — 
'  Some  would  have  me  turn  player,  and  others  Methodist 
preacher ;  but  as  I  had  not  money  to  build  me  a  tabernacle, 
I  did  not  think  this  would  answer ;  and  as  to  player,  what- 
ever might  happen  to  me,  I  was  determined  not  to  bring 
disgrace  upon  my  family,  so  I  resolved  to  turn  footman.'  If 
this  should  be  thought  exaggeration  suitable  only  for  a 
farce,  read  in  what  terms  Lady  Mary  Montagu  could  refer 
to  an  alliance  with  a  player  some  few  years  previously,  and 
Horace  Walpole  to  a  similar  event  some  few  years  after- 
wards. In  1739  Lady  Henrietta  Herbert  married  John 
Beard,  the  theatrical  singer.  In  the  General  Biographical 
Dictionary  Beard  is  spoken  of  as  a  most  delightful  com- 


4  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

panion,  whether  as  host  or  guest,  and  as  having  fulfilled  the 
respective  duties  of  a  son,  a  brother,  a  guardian,  a  friend, 
and  a  husband,  in  a  most  exemplary  manner.  This  is  how 
my  lady  speaks  of  an  alliance  with  such  a  man : — 

'  Lady  Harriet  Herbert  furnished  the  tea-tables  here  with  fresh 
tattle  for  this  last  fortnight.  I  was  one  of  the  first  informed  of 
her  adventures  by  Lady  Gaze,  who  was  told  that  morning  by  a 
priest  that  she  had  desired  him  to  marry  her  the  next  day  to 
Beard,  who  sings  in  the  farce  at  Drviry  Lane.  He  refused  her 
that  good  oflfice,  and  immediately  told  Lady  Gaze,  who  .  .  .  was 
frighted  .  .  .  and  asked  my  advice.  I  told  her  honestly  that 
since  the  lady  was  capable  of  such  amours,  I  did  not  doubt  if  this 
was  broke  off,  she  would  bestow  her  person  on  some  hackney- 
coachman  or  chairman,  and  that  I  really  saw  no  method  of  saving 
her  from  ruin.' 

Later  on,  she  reports  that  Lady  Harriet  (who,  it  may  be 
mentioned,  was  no  young  inexperienced  girl,  but  a  widow 
who  had  arrived  at  years  of  discretion),  has  returned  to 
London ;  '  and  some  people  believe  her  married,  others  that 
he  is  too  intimidated  by  Mr.  Waldegrave's  threat  to  dare  to 
go  through  the  ceremony.'  In  1773,  Lady  Susan  Strange- 
ways,  daughter  of  Lord  Ilchester,  as  soon  as  she  came  of 
age,  slipped  quietly  out  of  her  father's  house  one  fine  day, 
and  was  promptly  married  to  William  O'Brien,  the  com- 
edian— always,  by  the  way,  described  in  peerages  and 
similar  publications  as  '  William  O'Brien,  Esq.,  of  Stinsford, 
Dorsetshire.'  Horace  Walpole  was  aghast  at  this  '  sad 
misfortune,'  and  wrote  to  one  of  his  aristocratic  corre- 
spondents : — 

'Poor  Lord  Ilchester  is  almost  distracted;  indeed  it  is  the 
completion  of  disgrace— even  a  footman  Avere  preferable ;  the 
publicity  of  the  hero's  profession  perpetuates  the  mortification. 
...  I  could  not  have  believed  that  Lady  Susan  would  have  stooped 
so  low.' 

As  for  actresses  they  were  considered  very  fit  and  proper 


INTRODUCTION  5 

persons  to  become  the  mistresses  of  peers  and  other  fine 
gentlemen — and  whenever  they  would  not  readily  come  to 
terms  it  was  thought  quite  excusable  if  amorous  noblemen 
kidnapped  them  for  the  purpose ;  but  they  were  held  to 
be  very  unfit  to  become  gentlemen's  wives,  or  even  the 
wives  of  middle-class  persons  of  character  and  substance. 
The  exceptions — which  are  mostly  cases  of  actresses  raised 
to  the  peerage — may  be  held  to  prove  the  rule.  Through- 
out the  whole  of  the  eighteenth  century  there  were  only 
three  such  cases;  for  Miss  Mellon's  marriage  to  the  Duke 
of  St.  Albans  did  not  take  place  until  1827,  after  she 
had  figured  for  some  time  as  the  milhonaire  widow  of  the 
banker,  Coutts.  The  first  case  (which  did  not  come  within 
the  scope  of  the  present  volume),  was  that  of  Mrs.  Anastasia 
Robinson,  who  was  secretly  married  to  the  Earl  of  Peter- 
borough about  1722.  The  Earl  was  not  ashamed  to  live 
with  the  lady  as  his  supposed  mistress,  but  he  was  ashamed 
for  it  to  be  known  that  she  was  his  wife,  and  only  acknow- 
ledged the  fact  when  on  his  death-bed,  some  thirteen  years 
after  the  ceremony  had  taken  place.  Lavinia  Fenton,  as 
will  be  seen  in  its  proper  place,  lived  for  twenty-three  years 
with  the  Duke  of  Bolton  as  his  mistress  before  he  married 
her.  So  that  the  only  marriage  from  the  stage  to  the 
peerage  throughout  the  whole  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
which  is  comparable  to  those  with  which  we  have  become 
familiar  in  our  own  day,  is  that  of  Miss  Farren  to  the  Earl 
of  Derby  in  1797. 

In  addition  to  the  classical  and  ecclesiastical  tradition, 
which  so  adversely  affected  the  social  status  of  the  actor 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  actress  had  to  encounter 
the  tradition  of  immorality  attaching  to  her  in  conse- 
quence of  the  notoriously  scandalous  lives  of  the  earlier 
English  actresses  in  the  profligate  days  of  Charles  ii.  It 
is  not  quite  correct  to  say,  as  Cibber  does.,  that  '  before  the 


6   COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Restoration  no  actress  had  ever  been  seen  on  the  EnofUsh 
stage.'  Actresses,  imported  from  France,  were  occasionally 
seen  on  the  English  stage  during  the  reign  of  Charles  i. ; 
but  we  hear  that  they  were  called  very  unsavoury  names, 
and  often  '  hissed,  hooted,  and  pippin  -  pelted '  off  the 
boards.  Unquestionably,  however,  the  introduction  of 
women  was  the  great  theatrical  event  of  the  Restoration 
period.  Before  that  time  the  characters  of  women  were 
performed  by  boys,  or  by  young  men  of  effeminate  aspect. 
Pepys  records  in  his  diary  that  one  day  in  1660  he  saw 
a  boy  named  Kynaston  act  the  part  of  the  Duke's  sister, 
and  that  he  made  '  the  loveliest  lady  that  ever  I  saw  in 
my  life.'  On  another  occasion,  he  says  that  Kynaston 
appeared  in  three  shapes  :  first  as  a  poor  woman  in  ordinary 
clothes  ;  then  as  a  lady  in  fine  clothes,  in  which  he  was 
clearly  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  whole  house ;  and  lastly 
as  a  man,  when  he  likewise  appeared  to  be  the  handsomest 
man  in  the  house.  But  the  King,  as  well  as  many  of 
his  Court,  had  become  accustomed  to  actresses  on  the  Con- 
tinent ;  and  in  the  Patents  which  he  granted  to  Davenant 
and  to  Killigrew  for  the  formation  of  two  companies  of 
comedians,  to  be  called  the  King's  Servants  and  the  Duke's 
Servants  respectively,  it  is  expressly  stipulated  that  '  for  as 
much  as  the  women's  parts  therein  have  been  acted  by  men 
in  the  habits  of  women,  at  which  some  have  taken  offence 
.  .  .  We  do  likewise  permit  and  give  leave  that  all  the 
women's  parts  to  be  acted  in  either  of  the  said  two  com- 
panies for  the  time  to  come  may  be  performed  by  women.' 
Very  soon  afterwards  we  find  Pepys  noting  in  his  Diary — 
'  By  coach  to  the  theatre,  and  there  saw  the  Scornful  Lady, 
now  done  by  a  woman,  which  makes  the  play  much  better 
than  ever  it  did  to  me.'  But  a  later  entry  of  his,  for  the 
5th  October,  1667,  shows  us  something  of  the  seamy  side 
of  the  innovation : — 


INTRODUCTION  7 

'  To  the  King's  house  :  and  there,  going  in,  met  with  Knipp, 
and  she  took  us  up  into  the  tireing-rooms :  and  to  the  women's 
shift,  where  Nell  [Gwyn]  was  dressing  herself,  and  was  all  unready, 
and  is  very  pretty,  prettier  than  I  thought.  And  into  the  scene- 
room,  and  there  sat  down,  and  she  gave  us  fruit ;  and  here  I  read 
the  questions  to  Knipp,  while  she  answered  me,  through  all  her 
part  of  Flora's  Figarys,  which  was  acted  to-day.  But,  Lord  !  to 
see  how  they  were  both  painted  would  make  a  man  mad,  and  did 
make  me  loathe  them ;  and  what  base  company  of  men  comes 
among  them,  and  how  lewdly  they  talk  ! ' 

In  point  of  decency,  neitlier  the  plays  nor  the  players 
of  the  eighteenth  century — or  at  least  of  the  earlier  half 
of  the  eighteenth  century — appear  to  have  been  any  im- 
provement on  those  of  the  Restoration  period.  After 
Jeremy  Collier's  attack  on  the  immorality  of  the  stage  in 
1698,  some  slight  attempt  was  made  to  check  the  licence, 
not  so  much  of  the  dramatists  as  of  the  performers; 
and  there  were  some  few  prosecutions  of  players  for  using 
indecent  expressions — Betterton  and  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  two 
of  the  best  and  most  decent  of  the  performers,  being,  curi- 
ously enough,  the  first  to  be  fined.  But  the  improvement 
was  temporary  as  well  as  slight ;  and  George  ii.  was  not 
only  not  displeased  to  witness  immoral  dramas,  but  even 
encouraged  and  commanded  the  restoration  of  scenes  in 
some  of  the  older  plays  which  actors  and  managers  had 
dropped  as  too  indecent  for  representation.  Religious  pre- 
judice against  the  stage  and  all  its  works  during  the  first 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  by  no  means  so  strong 
as  it  had  been  during  the  days  of  the  early  Puritans,  nor  as 
it  became  later  on,  under  the  influence  of  the  Evangelicals 
and  the  Methodists.  But  in  1711  both  Houses  of  Convoca- 
tion strongly  condemned  the  immorality  of  the  theatre; 
and  in  1735  Sir  John  Bernard  complained  in  the  House 
of  Commons  that  the  six  theatres  then  open  in  London 
were  nothing  better  than  centres  of  corruption. 


8   COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

The  dramatic  taste  of  the  eighteenth  century — at  least 
until  Garrick  began  his  Shakespearean  revival  in  the  second 
half  of  it — was  terribly  low.  A  pompous  piece,  filled  with 
rant,  and  butchery,  and  bloodthirstiness,  was  its  ideal  of 
tragedy.  And  what  its  notion  of  comedy  was  like  may  be 
estimated  from  the  extraordinary  and  unprecedented  success 
of  Tlie  Beggars  Opera.  Those  were  not  the  days  of  long 
runs.  When  in  1750,  Garrick  and  Barry  played  as  rival 
Romeos,  at  the  two  houses,  for  eight  successive  performances, 
the  public  were  disgusted  with  so  much  of  one  thing  and 
demanded  more  variety.  But  in  1727  The  Beggars  Opera 
ran  for  sixty-three  nights  in  London,  and  fifty  nights  in 
Bristol  and  in  Bath.  In  1759,  with  Beard  as  Macheath  and 
Miss  Brent  as  Polly,  it  ran  for  thirty-seven  nights  consecu- 
tively and  fifty-two  in  all,  during  the  season,  so  that,  as 
Davies  reports,  it  seriously  affected  the  legitimate  drama  at 
Drury  Lane,  Shakespeare  and  Garrick  having  to  quit  the 
field  in  favour  of  Beard  and  Brent.  In  1781  Colman 
produced  the  piece  at  the  Haymarket,  with  all  the  women's 
parts  sustained  by  men,  and  all  the  men's  parts  by  women ; 
a  highly  popular  performance.  And  not  only  in  London 
but  throughout  the  country,  from  1727  to  the  end  of  the 
century,  every  species  of  performers  attempted  it,  from 
Theatres  Royal  to  barns  and  puppet-shoAvs,  Cook,  in  his 
life  of  Macklin,  tells  us  that  when  it  was  performed  at 
Barnstaple  in  1790  the  Macheath  had  but  one  eye,  the 
Polly  but  one  arm,  and  the  songs  were  supported  in  the 
orchestra  by  a  solitary  accompanist  who  whistled  the  tunes ! 
A  brief  account  of  this  famous  piece,  which  is  a  mere  name 
to  the  modern  playgoer,  will  be  found  in  the  sketch  of 
Lavinia  Fenton,  the  first  and  most  famous  of  Pollys.  The 
like  of  Pope  and  Swift,  or  of  Walpole  and  Chesterfield,  may 
have  regarded  it  purely  as  a  satire — on  the  public  taste  as 
well  as  the  public  morality.     But  the  bulk  of  the  audiences 


INTRODUCTION  9 

were  charmed  with  the  gallantry  of  Macheath,  the  high- 
wayman. Gibber  says  that  if  the  merit  of  plays  is  to 
be  measured  by  the  full  houses  they  have  brought,  The 
Beggars  Opera  must  be  set  down  as  the  best-written  play 
that  ever  an  English  theatre  had  to  boast  of.  Its  moral 
influence  may  be  estimated  from  the  fact  that  Sir  John 
Fielding,  the  magistrate,  publicly  remonstrated  with  Garrick 
against  its  revival,  and  that  he  showed  Kelly  his  record  books, 
which  proved  that  after  every  successful  run  of  the  piece, 
from  its  first  representation,  there  had  been  a  proportion- 
ately large  number  of  highwaymen  brought  to  his  court. 

Such  being  the  character  of  the  most  popular  plays,  let 
us  now  take  a  glance  at :  the  theatres  and  the  audiences. 
In  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second  there  had  been  only  two 
theatres  in  London,  and  even  these  proved  too  many ;  for 
in  1684  the  two  companies — the  King's  and  the  Duke's 
servants — amalgamated.  Early  in  the  eighteenth  century 
there  was  a  similar  amalgamation  for  a  time,  when  the 
theatre  in  the  Haymarket  was  appropriated  to  Italian  Opera 
while  Drury  Lane  remained  devoted  to  plays.  In  1709  the 
Haymarket  house  was  closed  for  a  time  by  order  of  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  and  after  its  re-opening,  both  plays  and 
operas  were  performed  there.  In  1714  a  playhouse  was 
opened  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields ;  in  1720,  a  new  theatre  was 
built  in  the  Haymarket;  in  1729  another  was  opened  in 
Goodman's  Fields,  and  in  1733  Covent  Garden  was  finished 
for  Rich  and  his  Company.  In  1737,  in  consequence  of  an 
attempt  by  Fielding  to  make  the  drama  a  vehicle  of  politi- 
cal satire,  an  Act  was  passed  prohibiting  the  representation 
of  any  performance  not  previously  licensed  by  the  Lord 
Chamberlain.  The  real  cause  for  this  was  that  Walpole 
and  the  corruption  of  parliamentary  elections  and  methods 
had  been  held  up  to  ridicule;  the  ostensible  cause  was 
an  attack  on  the  royal  family.     A  play  called  the  Golden 


10  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Rump,  said  to  have  been  offered  to  the  manager  of  Lincoln's 
Inn  theatre,  which  contained  a  bitter  satire  on  the  King 
and  the  reigning  family,  was  by  him  handed  over  to  Wal- 
pole,  and  some  extracts  from  this  scandalous  production 
which  Walpole  read  to  the  House  of  Commons  at  once 
secured  the  passing  of  his  bill.  It  has  since  been  suspected 
that  the  play  was  never  intended  for  representation,  but 
had  been  written  to  Walpole's  order,  to  enable  him  to  crush 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  political  comedy.  The  Act 
had  other  effects  as  well  as  this.  The  12  Anne  Cap.  23  had 
placed  all  actors  in  the  category  of  Rogues  and  Vagabonds. 
Walpole's  Act  restricted  this  to  those  who  acted  without 
authority  by  Patent  from  the  King,  or  by  licence  from  the 
Lord  Chamberlain.  It  also  provided  that  neither  the  Crown 
nor  the  Lord  Chamberlain  should  have  power  to  authorise 
theatrical  performances  for  money  in  any  part  of  Great 
Britain,  except  in  the  city  of  Westminister,  and  in  places 
where  the  King  happened  to  be  residing  for  the  time  being. 
But  the  taste  for  theatrical  performances  had  been  rapidly 
growing ;  and  this  provision  was  so  strongly  in  conflict  with 
public  opinion  that  it  was  practically  inoperative.  Not 
only  were  the  old  theatres  in  the  provincial  towns  not  sup- 
pressed, but  new  ones  sprang  up.  In  the  latter  part  of  the 
reign  of  George  ii.  and  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  George 
III.  there  were  dramatic  performances,  either  by  local  players 
or  by  actors  from  London  or  Dublin,  in  almost  every  town. 
There  was  a  company  at  York,  which  served  all  the  chief 
towns  in  the  county ;  a  company  at  Bath,  which  covered 
the  western  district;  a  company  at  Portsmouth,  which 
regularly  visited  Plymouth  and  Exeter.  Ireland  was  well 
served  with  theatres ;  and  in  1746  one  was  opened  in  the 
Canongate  in  Edinburgh.  Patents  for  Theatres  Royal  were 
granted  in  1767  for  Edinburgh;  in  1768  for  Bath  and  Nor- 
wich; in  1769  for  York  and  Hull;  in  1771  for  Liverpool; 


INTRODUCTION  11 

in  1775  for  Manchester;  in  1777  for  Chester;  and  in  1778 
for  Bristol;  while  in  1788  an  Act  was  passed  enabling 
magistrates  (under  certain  restrictions)  to  authorise  per- 
formances where  they  pleased. 

The  behaviour  of  London  audiences  during  the  eighteenth 
century  calls  for  a  few  remarks.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  from  the  time  of  the  Restoration  until  well  into  the 
Georgian  period  the  'quality'  arrogated  to  themselves  the 
privilege  of  invading  the  stage  while  the  play  was  being 
acted ;  so  that  actors  and  actresses  had  frequently  to  elbow 
their  way  to  the  front  through  a  mob;  and  although  the 
suppression  of  this  was  attempted  in  1704,  it  was  not  done 
away  with  for  many  years  afterwards,  Edmund  Bell- 
chambers  tells  us,  in  a  note  to  his  edition  of  Gibber's 
Apology,  that  it  was  a  custom  in  the  London  theatres,  till 
about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  to  erect  an 
amphitheatre  across  the  stage  from  one  front  wing  to  the 
other,  with  rows  of  benches,  more  or  less  in  number,  which 
not  only  destroyed  the  effect,  but  greatly  incommoded  the 
business,  of  the  performance.  In  some  instances  these  seats 
rose  so  high  that  hats  and  bonnets  appeared  above  the  trees 
and  amongst  the  clouds  of  the  scenery. 

'  A  single  entrance  was  left  upon  each  side  next  the  stage  door, 
which  was  often  choked  up  with  bystanders,  and  the  feats  of 
Bosworth  Field,  amidst  drums,  trumpets,  battle-axes  and  spears, 
were  enacted  between  two  audiences,  where  Richard  spoke  his 
last  soliloquy  and  his  dying  lines  upon  a  carpet  no  bigger  than  a 
table-cloth.' 

This  custom  was  encouraged  by  the  actors  for  the  sake  of 
the  extra  money  thus  to  be  got  for  seats  at  their  benefits ; 
and  when  Garrick  resolved  to  do  away  with  it  entirely  in 
1762,  they  made  a  great  outcry,  thinking  they  should  lose 
heavily.  But  it  can  never  have  been  acceptable  to  the 
playgoers,  and  there  were  frequent  bickerings  between  the 


12  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

two  audiences  thus  created — that  before  and  that  behind 
the  curtain.  This  accounts  for  a  note  sometimes  to  be 
seen  at  the  foot  of  old  playbills :  '  KB.— There  will  be  no 
building  on  the  stage.'  In  1721,  while  Macbeth  and  his 
lady  were  performing  their  parts,  a  tipsy  earl  crossed  the 
Haymarket  stage  to  speak  to  one  of  his  boon  companions 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house ;  and  when  Rich,  the  manager, 
remonstrated  with  him,  the  insolent  nobleman  gave  him  a 
slap  in  the  face — which  the  courageous  manager  unex- 
pectedly returned.  Half  a  dozen  beaux  instantly  drew  their 
swords  and  leaped  on  to  the  stage  to  take  vengeance  for 
such  a  sacrilegious  act;  and  had  not  Quin  and  other 
members  of  the  company  come  to  the  rescue  with  their 
handy  theatrical  weapons  in  their  hands,  it  is  probable  that 
there  would  have  been  a  real  murder  in  that  evening's 
performance.  After  this  awkward  incident  the  King  ordered 
a  guard  of  soldiers  to  attend  every  performance  at  each  of 
the  Patent  Houses,— a  custom  which  lingered  to  within 
living  memory,  long  after  the  reason  for  it  had  been  for- 
gotten. Dr.  Doran  says  that  in  the  first  half  of  the  century 
people  in  the  boxes  were  in  the  habit  of  spitting  into  the 
pit !  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  habit  was  not  general ;  but 
it  is  certainly  on  record  that  on  one  occasion  when  a  well- 
known  actress  by  her  powerful  representation  of  the  char- 
acter of  Mrs.  Beverley  had  hushed  the  house  into  a 
condition  of  breathless  silence,  a  little  Jew  suddenly  started 
up  and  cried  out  fiercely:  'My  Got!  who  vas  dat  shpit  in 
my  eye?'  A  collection  of  old  newspaper  cuttings  made 
by  Charles  Mathews,  the  comedian,  and  now  preserved  in 
the  Forster  collection  at  South  Kensington,  furnishes  a 
number  of  curious  illustrations  of  the  conditions  under 
which  actors  had  to  play  their  parts  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. In  February  1772  it  appears  to  have  been  necessary 
to  put  out  the  following  advertisement — 


INTRODUCTION  13 

'We  are  desired  to  acquaint  the  Gods  of  both  theatres  that 
should  any  person  lose  their  life  by  throwing  of  a  bottle  or  other 
dangerous  implement,  it  "will,  upon  conviction,  (and  it  can't  be 
done  so  secretly  as  to  escape  observation),  be  deemed  murder  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  and  that  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  many 
humane  people,  who  have  beheld  this  savage  and  unpardonable 
practice  with  the  greatest  concern  and  indignation.' 

In  May  of  the  same  year,  another  newspaper  records  a 
disturbance  at  Drury  Lane  theatre  (happily,  however,  of 
a  less  dangerous  character  than  the  foregoing),  occasioned 
by  a  person  in  the  shilling  gallery  who  insisted  on  singing 
some  popular  songs.  The  pit  was  exceedingly  displeased, 
and  remonstrated  strongly ;  the  galleries,  on  the  other  hand, 
were  hugely  delighted,  and  repeatedly  encored  this  un- 
authorised programme.  The  dispute  interrupted  the  adver- 
tised performance  for  over  half  an  hour ;  and  in  the  end  the 
gallery  performer  had  to  be  allowed  to  finish  his  singing 
before  the  play  could  go  on.  Ten  years  later  than  this,  a 
young  German  clergyman  named  Moritz  paid  a  visit  to  the 
Haymarket  theatre  during  his  travels  in  England  in  1782. 
The  prices,  he  notes,  were  5s.  for  a  seat  in  the  boxes,  3s,  for 
the  pit,  2s.  for  the  first  gallery,  and  Is.  for  the  top  gallery. 

'  It  is  the  tenants  in  this  upper  gallery,  who,  for  their  shilling, 
make  all  the  noise  and  uproar  for  which  the  English  playhouses 
are  so  famous.  I  was  in  the  pit,  which  gradually  rises,  amphi- 
theatre-wise, from  the  orchestra,  and  is  furnished  Avith  benches 
one  above  another,  from  the  top  to  the  bottom.  Often  and 
often,  whilst  I  sat  there,  did  a  rotten  orange,  or  pieces  of  the 
peel  of  an  orange,  fly  past  me,  or  past  some  of  my  neighbours,  and 
once  one  of  them  actually  hit  my  hat,  without  my  daring  to  look 
round,  for  fear  another  might  hit  me  on  the  face.  .  .  .  Besides 
this  perpetual  pelting  from  the  gallery,  which  renders  an 
English  playhouse  so  uncomfortable,  there  is  no  end  to  their 
calling  out,  and  knocking  with  their  sticks,  till  the  curtain  is 
drawn  up.  ...  I  sometimes  heard,  too,  the  people  in  the  lower 
or  middle  gallery  quarrelling  with  those  of  the  upper  one.  Be- 
hind me  in  the  pit  sat  a  young  fop,  who,  in  order  to  display  his 


14  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

costly  shoe-buckles  with  the  utmost  brilliancy,  continually  put 
his  foot  on  my  bench,  and  even  sometimes  on  my  coat.  ...  In 
the  boxes,  quite  in  a  corner,  sat  several  servants,  who  were  said 
to  be  placed  there  to  keep  the  seats  for  the  families  they  served, 
.  .  .  They  seemed  to  sit  remarkably  close  and  still,  the  reason  of 
which,  I  was  told,  was  their  apprehension  of  being  pelted ;  for  if 
one  of  them  does  but  look  out  of  the  box,  he  is  immediately 
saluted  with  a  shower  of  orange-peel  from  the  gallery.' 

One  of  Charles  Mathews's  newspaper-cuttings  contains 
a  letter  from  a  disgusted  playgoer,  dated  January  1776, 
protesting  against  this  custom  of  '  permitting  a  footman  to 
sit  for  an  act  or  two  of  a  play  next  to  a  woman  of  the  first 
quality,  by  way  of  securing  a  place  for  his  absent  master.' 
The  indecency  of  the  practice  is  said  to  be  aggravated  by 
the  usual  choice  of  the  dirtiest  servant  of  the  family  for  this 
duty — 'for  the  Men  of  Parade  and  Figure  are  to  prance 
before  the  Lady's  Chair  with  lighted  Flambeaux,  or  hang 
like  a  Rope  of  Onions  behind  her  Coach.'  As  a  remedy  for 
the  nuisance,  the  writer  of  this  letter  made  the  revolution- 
ary suorsrestion  that  the  sittings  in  the  boxes  should  be 
numbered ;  a  plan  which  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to 
any  one  previously,  and  which  was  not  adopted  till  long 
afterwards.  The  footmen  appear  to  have  been  a  nuisance 
in  more  ways  than  one.  After  keeping  places  in  the  boxes 
for  their  employers  during  the  first  acts  of  a  play,  they 
claimed  the  right  of  free  admission  to  the  top  gallery  to 
witness  the  remainder  of  the  performance.  From  1697 
to  1780,  the  upper  gallery  appears  to  have  been  open  gratis 
to  all  footmen  in  livery ;  and  an  attempt  to  expel  them 
from  Drury  Lane  in  1737  led  to  a  serious  riot.  Another 
of  Mathews's  cuttings,  dated  5th  March  1737,  tells  us 
that — 

'Last  Saturday  night  a  great  number  of  footmen  assembled 
together  with  sticks,  staves,  and  other  offensive  weapons,  in  a 
tumultuous  and  riotous  manner,    and  broke  open  the  doors  at 


INTRODUCTION  15 

Drury  Lane  play-house,  for  not  being  let  into  what  they  call 
their  Gallery,  and  fought  their  way  in  so  desperate  a  manner  to 
the  stage-door  (which  they  forced  open)  that  near  thirty  persons 
were  dangerously  wounded  in  the  fray.' 

Riots  of  one  kind  or  another  were  pretty  frequent  occur- 
rences. In  1740,  when  the  audience  were  disappointed  by 
the  non-appearance  of  a  certain  French  dancer,  the  ladies 
were  all  first  very  carefully  handed  out  of  the  pit  and  then 
the  '  gentlemen,'  led  by  a  noble  marquis  (who  would  have 
set  fire  to  the  house  if  others  had  not  prevented  him), 
smashed  the  musical  instruments,  pulled  down  the  decora- 
tions and  fittings,  broke  up  the  benches,  and  destroyed 
everything  they  could  lay  hands  upon.  In  1743,  thirty 
prize-fighters  employed  by  Garrick's  friends  fought  in  the 
pit  of  Drury  Lane  with  a  similar  band  of  boxers  employed 
by  the  friends  of  Macklin.  In  1749  such  a  riot  occurred  in 
consequence  of  the  introduction  of  a  troupe  of  French 
players  at  the  Haymarket,  that  the  guards  were  called  in 
upon  the  stage.  In  1754,  Garrick's  employment  of  foreign 
dancers  in  his  '  Chinese  Festival,'  so  offended  the  patriotic 
sentiments  of  the  groundhngs  that  they  protested  with 
violence  against  the  introduction  of  the  undesirable  aliens. 
When  the  pitites  stormed,  however,  the  gentlemen  in  the 
boxes  drew  their  swords  and  leaped  down  to  support  the 
management  by  pricking  the  rowdy  dissentients  into  sub- 
mission. But  they  had  miscalculated  their  forces;  and 
when  the  mob  had  smitten  the  quality  hip  and  thigh,  they 
proceeded  to  demolish  the  interior  of  the  theatre.  In  1762, 
the  abolition  of  the  half-price  caused  a  similar  riot.  In 
1770,  there  was  a  riot  to  prevent  the  dramatist  Kelly  having 
a  benefit.  A  hand-bill  was  distributed  amongst  the 
audience  setting  forth  that  that  evening's  performance 
at  Drury  Lane  was  to  be  for  Kelly's  benefit,  who  was 
described  as  a  comic  writer  whose  abilities  were  contemptible, 


16  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

and  a  politician  whose  principles  were  detestable.  Forces 
seemed  about  equally  divided  ;  one  part  of  the  audience 
insisting  that  the  play  {False  Delicacy)  should  be  performed, 
another  being  equally  resolute  to  prevent  it.  After  the 
conflicting  shouters  had  rendered  any  performance  impos- 
sible for  some  time,  Garrick  came  forward  and  desired  that 
the  audience  would  be  pleased  to  direct  him  what  to  do. 
He  was  then  asked  whether  that  night's  performance  was 
for  the  benefit  of  Mr.  Kelly.  He  assured  them  that  it  was 
not ;  and  proposed,  as  the  only  method  of  quieting  ever}'^- 
body,  to  dismiss  the  house.  But  this  was  not  agreed  to; 
and  after  an  hour's  delay  the  play  began.  It  was  acted  to 
the  end,  notwithstanding  the  hissing,  shouting,  clapping 
screaming,  and  apple-throwing  that  continued  through- 
out. One  of  the  newspaper  comments  on  the  incident  is 
as  follows  : — 

*  No  excuse  can  be  made  for  the  cruel  treatment  of  the  per- 
formers on  these  occasions,  who  are  certainly  innocent  objects,  and 
should  by  no  means  be  pelted  at,  like  criminals  in  the  pillory. 
But  on  Tuesday  humanity  gave  place  to  savageness  and  fury ;  the 
women  were  pelted  indiscriminately  with  the  men,  and  Mrs. 
Baddeley  was  so  disconcerted  by  an  apple  which  was  thrown  at 
her,  that  such  of  the  audience  as  were  not  qiiite  destitute  of  feeling, 
trembled  for  her  situation.' 

All  this  occurred  in  what  was  considered  the  polite  society 
of  the  capital.  But  as  a  high  provincial  reputation  was 
always  the  best  introduction  an  actor  or  an  actress  could 
have  to  one  of  the  great  London  managers,  we  must  also 
take  a  glance  at  the  provincial  theatres ;  and,  as  these  re- 
cruited their  forces  from  the  most  promising  of  the  strollers, 
it  will  be  necessary  likewise  to  say  a  few  words  about  the 
itinerant  fraternity — from  which  (to  name  no  others),  Eliza- 
beth Farren,  Countess  of  Derby,  and  Harriot  Mellon,  Duchess 
of  St,  Albans  originally  sprang.     Perhaps  the  best  way  of 


INTRODUCTION  l^ 

enabling  tlie  reader  to  realise  what  provincial  theatre  life 
was  like  in  the  eighteenth  century  will  be  to  select  a  few 
of  the  typical  experiences  of  Tate  Wilkinson  and  John 
Bernard.  Tate  Wilkinson  was  the  son  of  a  Dr.  Wilkin- 
son, chaplain  to  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales.  After  having 
achieved  considerable  success  as  an  actor  in  Dublin 
and  at  Drury  Lane,  Tate  became  patentee  of  the  Theatre 
Royal  at  York,  which,  under  his  management,  was  the  pro- 
fessional nursery  of  Mrs.  Inchbald  and  Mrs.  Jordan,  of 
Fawcett  and  Kemble,  and  various  other  actors  and  actresses 
of  renown.  Even  after  he  had  become  Patentee  of  the  York 
Theatre,  he  tells  us,  he  was  frequently  treated  as  though  he 
were  little  better  than  a  rogue  and  a  vagabond.  If  he 
happened  to  produce  a  play  which  the  quality  who  attended 
the  York  races  could  interpret  as  in  any  way  reflecting  on 
their  conduct  and  way  of  life,  these  touchy  persons  objected 
to  having  the  mirror  held  up  to  them,  and  peremptorily 
commanded  him  to  take  it  oft'  the  stage.  When  he  appeared 
as  '  Major  Sturgeon,'  the  local  militia  took  it  as  an  insult  to 
their  officers,  and  he  was  not  only  threatened  with  a  riot 
if  he  repeated  the  performance,  but  a  sergeant  and  six 
soldiers  were  sent  to  the  theatre  with  orders  to  beat  him 
unmercifully  and  then  duck  him  in  the  river ;  a  punish- 
ment which  he  only  escaped  by  disguising  himself  as  a 
livery  servant,  and  lighting  some  of  the  company  to  their 
home.  Once  when  he  was  attending  to  the  rehearsal  of 
Foote's  farce,  The  AutJior,  he  was  sent  for  by  a  party  of 
gentlemen  to  their  dining-room  in  a  neighbouring  inn,  when 
one  of  them  haughtily  addressed  him  as  follows  : — 

'  My  name,  Mr.  Wilkinson,  is  Apreece,  and  the  character  of 
Cadwallader  you  mean  to  perform  is  an  affront  to  the  memory  of 
my  father  (who  is  now  dead) :  as  his  son,  by  G — d,  I  will  not 
suffer  such  insolence  to  pass  either  unnoticed  or  unpunished; 
therefore  if  to-night  you  dare  attempt  or  presume  to  play  that 

B 


18  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

farce,  myself  and  friends  are  determined,  one  and  all,  not  to  leave 
a  bench  or  scene  in  your  theatre.' 

Even  when  his  patrons  were  pleased,  they  did  not  treat 
him  much  more  civilly  than  when  they  were  displeased. 
A  gentleman  of  position,  highly  esteemed  throughout  the 
spacious  county  of  York,  once  desired  to  patronise  a  play. 
Wilkinson,  as  was  usual  on  such  occasions,  sent  his  treasurer 
with  the  catalogue ;  but  after  looking  over  a  long  list  of 
tragedies,  comedies,  and  farces,  this  gentleman  could  not 
determine  what  to  select,  and  desired  that  Mr.  Wilkinson 
himself  would  attend  him  and  his  party,  after  dinner,  at  the 
inn  where  he  then  for  a  few  days  resided.  Wilkinson  of 
course  obeyed  the  mandate;  and  it  might  perhaps  have 
been  expected  that  the  Patentee  of  the  York  theatre  would 
have  been  favoured  with  a  seat  at  their  board.  The  follow- 
ing, however,  is  his  account  of  his  reception : — 

'  After  waiting  a  considerable  time  in  the  bar,  I  was  at  length 
ushered  into  the  room  where  the  company  had  dined,  when  Sir 

beckoned  me  to  approach  him  at  the  upper  end  of  the 

table,  where  I  impertinently  expected  to  have  sat  down;  but 
neither  found  a  vacancy,  or  the  waiter  even  ordered  to  produce 

me  a  chair.     Sir discoursed  relative  to  the  play — then 

of  York  city ;  graciously  observed  I  had  acted  Bayes  so  as  to 
merit  his  approbation ;  and  to  heighten  the  compliment  remarked 
he  was  no  judge,  as  he  seldom  visited  the  theatre,  either  in 
London  or  elsewhere.  At  length  he  condescendingly  asked  me  to 
drink  a  class  of  wine,  which  I  begged  to  decline ;  but  he  requested 
a  worthy  and  respectable  gentleman  ...  to  give  me  a  glass, 
which  he  handed  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  common  porter  waiting 
for  a  message ;  for  I  actually  stood  all  the  while  at  the  back  of 
their  chairs.' 

If  this  were  the  treatment  accorded  to  a  well-to-do  manager, 
we  may  imagine  how  his  poor  actors  and  actresses  must  have 
suffered.  When  a  player  had  a  benefit,  he  was  expected  to 
return  thanks  after  the  play ;  and  if  he  were  married,  both 


INTRODUCTION  19 

husband  and  wife  were  expected  to  appear  together.  If  he 
could  produce  four  or  five  children  to  bow  and  courtesy,  the 
ladies  were  particular^  pleased ;  and  Wilkinson  relates  that 
on  one  such  occasion  Frodsham  spoke  a  comic  epilogue,  and 
actually  carried  his  wife  on  and  off  the  stage,  on  his  back, 
to  comply  with  the  expected  homage.  The  draggle-tailed 
wife,  as  well  as  the  husband,  would  have  tramped  already 
perhaps,  through  rain  or  hail  or  snow,  from  door  to  door, 
delivering  the  benefit  play-bills,  and  pressing  the  sale 
of  their  tickets.  '  Good  God  ! '  exclaims  Wilkinson,  some 
time  after  this  degrading  custom  had  been  abolished,  '  to 
actually  behold  Mr.  Frodsham,  bred  as  a  gentleman,  with 
fine  natural  talents,  and  esteemed  in  York  as  a  Garrick, 
running  after  and  stopping  a  gentleman  on  horseback  to 
deliA^er  his  benefit-bill,  and  beg  half-a-crown,  then  the  price 
of  the  boxes ! ' 

John  Bernard,  whose  father  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  navy, 
and  his  mother  the  daughter  of  a  post-captain,  who  was 
brought  up  in  easy  circumstances,  and  destined  for  a  re- 
putable profession,  was  bitten  with  stage-mania,  and  went 
a-stroUing.  After  a  variety  of  wanderings,  he  obtained  a 
regular  engagement  at  the  Norwich  Theatre  at  30s.  a  week, 
and  subsequently  became  a  well-known  actor  in  London, 
and  secretary  of  the  celebrated  Beef-steak  Club.  When 
Bernard  was  in  Dublin  in  1782-3,  that  city  boasted  of  three 
theatres.  The  first  house  to  open  for  the  season  was 
Crawford's,  who,  by  virtue  of  his  Patent,  was  bound  to  com- 
mence with  a  free  night.  Soon  after  the  doors  were  opened 
the  house  was  packed  in  every  part.  The  play  was  Douglas, 
performed,  for  this  occasion  only,  by  the  understrappers  of 
the  company.  The  part  of  Glenalvon  was  played  by  an 
inferior  actor  named  Barret,  who  was  dressed  in  an  entire 
suit  of  black,  '  with  a  black  wig,  and  a  black  velvet  hat 
crowned  with  an  immense  plume  of  black  feathers,  which, 


20  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

bending  before  him,  gave  him  very  much  the  aspect  of  a 
mourning-coach  horse.'  He  assumed  the  manner  of  Mossop, 
and  was  received  by  his  numerous  friends  with  thunder- 
ing applause.  But  some  of  the  more  intimate  ones  took  a 
dishke  to  the  costume  and  interrupted  him  by  calling : 
'  Paddy  Barret ;  Paddy  Barret ! '  of  which  he  took  no  notice. 
They  then  called  for  '  a  groan  for  Mr.  Barret ' ;  but  the  actor 
had  heard  that  sort  of  thing  before,  and  solemnly  proceeded 
with  his  part.  At  last,  together  with  the  imperative 
question — 'Divil  burn  ye,  Paddy  Barret!  will  ye  lave  otf 
spaking  to  that  lady  and  listen  ? ',  came  a  well-aimed 
potato. 

'  The  potato  triumphed ;  and  the  actor,  "walking  for^yard  to  the 
lamps,  desired  to  be  acquainted  with  his  patron's  wishes. — "Put 
some  powder  in  your  jasey,  you  black-looking  coal-heaver." 
"  Oh  !  is  that  all  you  want,  my  jewel.  Why  didn't  you  say  so 
before.  Surely  I  '11  do  that  thing.  But  I  have  onnly  to  tell  you, 
my  darlings,  that  I  'm  a  Scotch  jontleman  to-night,  and  not  Mr. 
Benjamin  Barret,  and  so ,  ! " — "  Get  out  wid  your  dirti- 
ness, Paddy,  you  chimney-swaper  !  You  tragedy  crow  !  Do  you 
think  to  bother  us  with  your  black  looks  1  Go  and  powder  your 
jasey,  you  divil's  own  body-boxmaker  !  " — "  Oh,  to  be  sure,  I  '11  do 
that  thing."  Saying  which,  he  made  a  low  bow  and  retreated  to 
the  green-room,  leaving  the  audience,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Ran- 
dolph to  amuse  themselves  ad  interim  as  they  pleased.' 

When  he  came  back,  however,  it  appeared  that  the  barber 
had  not  only  deluged  his  wig  with  powder,  but  shaken  it 
also  over  his  face  and  clothes,  and  he  was  received  with  a 
shout  of  laughter  that  threatened  to  rend  the  roof.  He 
tried  to  proceed,  but  exclamations  such  as  '  Arrah !  the 
boy's  been  in  a  snow-storm!'  or  'By  the  Powers!  he  has 
put  his  head  in  a  flower-sack!'  together  with  yells  and 
groans,  made  a  chorus  that  was  too  much  for  him. 

'  He  then  came  forward  a  second  time  to  enquire  their  wishes  : 
"  Leedies  and  jontlemen,  what  may  it  plase  ye  to  want  now  1 " 


INTRODUCTION  21 

"  Put  some  paint  on  your  nose,"  was  the  reply.  "What !  "  "  Put 
some  paint  on  your  nose,  you  ghost  alive  !"  "  Paint  my  nose  to 
play  tragedy  !  Oh,  bad  luck  to  your  taste  !  I  '11  tell  you  what, 
Terrence  M 'Mulligan,  and  you,  Larry  Casey,  Avith  your  two  ugly 
mugs  up  in  the  boxes  yonder,  I  see  how  it  is  :  the  Divil  himself 
wouldn't  plase  ye  to-night ;  so  you  may  just  come  down  and  play 
the  karakter  yourselves,  for  the  ghost  of  another  line  will  I  never 
spake  to-night."  Saying  which,  he  took  off  his  wig,  and  shaking 
its  powder  at  them  contemptuously,  walked  off  the  stage  with  a 
truly  tragical  strut.' 

Bernard  had  joined  Daly's  company,  which  at  that  time 
included  Digges  and  the  Kembles,  and  one  day  they  all 
received  an  invitation  to  attend  a  performance  at  the 
Mallow  Theatre,  when  they  witnessed  another  typically 
Irish  scene. 

'  Our  amusement  commenced  the  instant  we  entered  the  house, 
in  listening  to  a  conversation  that  was  going  on  between  the 
gallery  and  the  orchestra,  the  latter  composed  of  a  performer  on 
the  violin  and  one  on  the  big  drum.  "  Mr.  Patrick  Moriarty  ! " 
shouted  the  combiner  of  horse-hair  and  cat-gut,  "  how  are  you,  my 
jewel?"  "Aisy  and  impudent,  Teddy  O'Hoone ;  how  are  youl 
How's  your  sow?"  "Mischievous  and  tender,  like  all  of  her 
sex.  What  tune  would  it  plase  ye  to  have,  Mr.  Patrick 
Moriarty  1  "  Mr.  Patrick  was  indifferent,  and  referred  the  matter 
to  a  committee  of  females.  In  the  meantime,  Teddy  began  to 
tune  up,  at  which  another  of  his  "divine"  companions  above 
assailed  him:  "Arrah!  Teddy  O'Hoone!  Teddy,  you  divil!" 
"What  do  you  say,  Larry  Kennedy?"  "Tip  us  a  tune  on  your 
fiddle-de-de,  and  don't  stand  there  making  the  crature  squake  like 
a  hog  in  a  holly-bush.  Paddy  Byrne"  (this  to  the  drummer). 
"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Kennedy  ? "  "  An 't  you  a  jewel,  now,  to 
be  setting  there  at  your  aise,  when  here  's  a  whole  cock-loft  full  of 
jontlemen  come  to  hear  you  thomp  your  big  bit  of  cow-hide  on 
the  top  of  a  butter-tub." ' 

A  popular  air  was  now  decided  on,  and  a  general  dance 
ensued,  shaking  down  a  shower  of  dust  on  the  clothes  of 
those  below.      Presently  the   unfortunate   fiddler  broke   a 


22  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

string,  which  being  looked  upon  as  a  personal  affront,  the 
gentlemen  upstairs,  who  had  evidently  come  prepared  for 
contingencies,  not  only  discharged  a  hurricane  of  epithets 
too  choice  for  publication,  but  also  a  volley  of  potatoes, 
which  they  fired  with  such  vigour  and  accuracy  that  the 
orchestra  had  to  beat  a  speedy  retreat.  Calm  was  only 
restored  by  the  manager  coming  forward  to  explain  that  the 
breaking  of  the  string  was  a  pure  accident,  and  by  Messrs 
Thaddeus  O'Hoone  and  Patrick  Byrne  making  a  humble 
apology. 

The  theatres  of  Dublin  and  of  Bath  were  much  on  a  level, 
both  as  regards  appointments  and  players,  with  the  theatres 
of  London ;  but  in  the  earlier  half  of  the  eighteenth  century 
provincial  toAvns  of  considerable  importance  possessed  no- 
ing  better  than  the  theatre  which  Manager  Jackson,  a 
dramatic  wanderer  well  known  in  the  West  of  England,  had 
established  for  the  delectation  of  the  people  of  Plymouth 
and  its  neighbourhood.  Bernard  gives  us  an  admirable 
detailed  description  of  the  place. 

'  He  had  engaged  the  largest  room  at  the  Black  Bull,  suspended 
a  collection  of  green  tatters  along  its  middle  for  a  curtain,  erected 
a  pair  of  paper  screens,  right  hand  and  left,  for  wings ;  arranged 
four  candles  in  front  of  said  wings  to  divide  the  stage  from  the 
orchestra  (the  fiddlers'  chairs  being  the  legitimate  division  of  the 
orchestra  from  the  pit),  and  with  all  the  spare  benches  of  the  inn 
to  form  boxes,  and  a  hoop  suspended  from  the  ceiling  (perforated 
with  a  dozen  nails,  to  receive  as  many  tallow  candles),  to  suggest 
the  idea  of  a  chandelier ;  he  had  constructed  and  embellished 
what  he  denominated  a  theatre  !  The  scenery  consisted  of  two 
drops,  simply  and  comprehensively  divisible  into  the  inside  of  a 
house  and  the  outside  of  a  house.  The  former  (which  was  an 
original  of  about  the  same  date  as  the  manager)  was  a  bond  fide 
representation  at  bottom  of  a  kitchen  with  all  the  culinary  imple- 
ments arranged  about  it ;  but  by  the  simple  introduction  of  two 
chairs  and  a  table,  this  was  constituted  a  gentleman's  parlour ! 
and  in  the  further  presence  of  a  crimson-cushioned,  yellow-legged 


INTRODUCTION  23 

elbow  chair,  with  a  banner  behind,  and  a  stool  in  front,  was 
elevated  into  a  royal  hall  of  audience !  .  .  .  The  other  drop 
(which  I  have  termed  outside  of  a  house)  was  somewhat  younger 
than  its  companion,  and  very  ingeniously  presented  on  its  surface 
two  houses  peeping  in  at  the  sides,  a  hill,  a  wood,  a  stream,  a 
bridge,  and  a  distant  plain ;  so  that  from  the  general  indistinct- 
ness of  the  whole,  the  eye  of  the  spectator  might  single  out  a 
particular  feature,  and,  agreeably  to  the  locality  of  the  scene  that 
was  passing,  imagine  himself  in  a  street,  a  wood,  by  a  stream,  etc., 
alternately,' 

Most  of  the  provincial  companies  could  only  exist  by  dint 
of  serving  all  the  principal  towns  of  their  county  or  district ; 
but  there  were  also  companies  with  no  headquarters,  who 
were  itinerants  pure  and  simple.  These  were  usually  con- 
stituted on  what  was  called  the  'sharing  system.'  What 
this  was  will  be  best  understood  from  a  concrete  instance. 
Stanton's  company,  when  Harriot  Mellon  joined  it  in 
1789,  consisted  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanton,  eight  actors,  four 
actresses,  and  an  orchestra  of  two,  the  'leader'  of  which 
received  a  fixed  salary  of  a  guinea  a  week,  and  took  no 
share  of  the  profits.  A  performance  three  times  a  week  in 
a  theatre  holding  £8  nightly  would  give  them  £24.  Allow- 
ing £7  for  expenses  (including  the  guinea  to  the  leader  of 
the  orchestra),  there  would  be  a  profit  of  £17.  From  this 
the  manager  would  take  £4  for  the  use  of  scenery,  dresses, 
etc.,  leaving  £13  to  be  divided  amongst  thirteen  performers 
(including  the  manager  who  took  his  share  of  this  as  being 
a  performer  also),  so  that,  in  this  case,  every  player,  male  or 
female,  would  receive  £1  for  the  week's  work.  They  also 
shared  amongst  them  whatever  was  unconsumed  of  the 
candles  used  for  lighting  the  theatre.  Poor  houses,  of 
course,  meant  less  money  for  everybody.  Everard  relates 
in  his  Memoirs  that  he  once  heard  King  remark,  in  the 
green-room  of  Drury  Lane,  that  in  his  early  days,  after  per- 
forming King  Richard  one  night  for  a  sharing  company,  he 


24  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

also  gave  two  comic  songs,  played  in  an  interlude,  danced  a 
horn-pipe,  spoke  a  prologue,  and  acted  harlequin ;  after  all 
which  fatigue  he  found  that  his  share  of  the  profits  was 
threepence  and  two  pieces  of  candle !  John  Bernard  made 
his  debut  in  a  theatre  fitted  up  in  a  malt-house,  and  by  the 
aid  of  a  number  of  club  friends  who  came  to  support  him  on 
the  occasion,  the  receipts  on  this  first  night  amounted  to 
'  the  unprecedented  sum '  of  £9.  The  manager,  he  says,  was 
in  ecstasies;  but  when  on  the  second  night  that  ecstatic 
gentleman  followed  him  to  his  lodgings  to  present  him  with 
his  share  of  the  profits,  he  found  they  amounted  to  no  more 
than  eight  shillings  and  three  tallow  candles.  The  usual 
plan  was  to  share  the  profits  at  the  end  of  their  run  in  a 
place,  whether  that  were  a  day  or  two  or  a  w^eek  or  two.  In 
the  meantime,  the  members  of  the  company  lived  on  credit, 
and  they  paid  their  landlords,  butchers,  bakers,  etc.,  before 
moving  on  to  another  pitch.  Bernard  gives  us  a  sketch  of 
the  well-known  strolling  manager,  Penchard,  and  his  com- 
pany as  they  appeared  on  the  march  out  of  Brentwood : — 

'  First  came  Mr.  Singer  and  Mrs.  Penchard,  arm-in-arm ;  then 
Old  Joe,  the  stage-keeper,  leading  a  neddy  .  .  .  which  supported 
two  panniers  containing  the  scenery  and  wardrobes;  and  above 
them,  with  a  leg  resting  on  each,  Mr.  Penchard  himself,  dressed  in 
his  "  Ranger  "  suit  of  brown  and  gold,  with  his  distinguishing  wig, 
and  a  httle  three-cornered  hat  cocked  on  one  side,  giving  the 
septuagenarian  an  air  of  gaiety  that  suited  well  with  his  known 
attachment  for  the  rakes  and  lovers  of  the  drama :  one  hand  was 
knuckled  in  his  side  (his  favourite  position),  and  the  other  raised 
a  pinch  of  snufF  to  his  nose ;  and  as  he  passed  along  he  nodded  and 
bowed  to  all  about  him,  and  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  the 
attention  he  excited.' 

It  was  not  all  itinerant  managers,  however,  who  were 
wealthy  enough  to  possess  their  own  donkey;  and  when 
there  had  been  a  bad  run,  and  funds  were  short,  the  whole 
company  had  to  walk  to  their  next  stopping-place,  carrying 


INTRODUCTION  25 

wardrobe  and  scenery  in  bundles  on  their  backs.  The  itin- 
erant companies  of  Ireland  appear  to  have  been  worse  off 
than  those  of  England,  if  we  may  judge  of  them  from  the 
very  Hogarthian  picture  drawn  by  '  Petronius  Arbiter '  in  his 
memoir  of  Elizabeth  Farren.     He  says  : — 

'  The  author  of  these  Memoirs  has  seen  the  part  of  the  Widow 
Brady  (a  breeches  part)  in  the  farce  of  The  Irish  Widow,  played  in 
high-heeled  shoes,  a  shift,  and  a  loose  greatcoat,  the  poverty  of  the 
wardrobe  not  affording  better  accommodation.  He  remembers  also 
to  have  seen  the  part  of  Captain  Plume,  in  The  Eecruiting  Officer, 
enacted  in  a  red  stuff  coat,  and  a  laced  waistcoat,  and  yellow  plush 
breeches,  borrowed  from  the  footman  of  the  parish  Rector.  And 
beinof  once  behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre  erected  in  a  barn,  and 
observing  a  gentleman  decked  in  a  very  gaudy  suit,  without  any 
stockings,  he  inquired  whether  the  part  he  was  going  to  perform 
required  his  legs  to  be  naked ;  and  was  informed  that  the  gentle- 
man's wife  was  then  on,  using  the  stockings,  and  that  as  he  did  not 
appear  at  the  same  time  with  her  ...  he  was  waiting  till  she  took 
them  off  in  order  to  his  putting  them  on,' 

It  was,  of  course,  inevitable  that  their  material  surround- 
ings, as  well  as  the  estimation  in  which,  as  men  and  women, 
they  were  popularly  held,  should  react  powerfully  on  the 
characters  of  the  players.  The  standard  of  morality,  even 
amongst  persons  of  quality,  in  the  eighteenth  century  was 
deplorably  low.  And,  without  admitting  that  there  is  any- 
thing in  the  actor's  art  necessarily  degrading  to  his  self- 
respect  and  relaxing  to  his  moral  fibre,  it  is  certainly  not 
much  to  be  wondered  at  if,  with  such  an  environment  as  has 
been  here  outlined,  the  actors  and  actresses  of  the  Georgian 
period  were  somewhat  more  prone  to  imitate  the  follies  and 
vices  rather  than  the  virtues,  both  of  the  imaginary  persons 
whom  they  were  in  the  habit  of  representing,  and  of  the  real 
persons  with  whom  they  became  familiar  behind  the  scenes. 
Tate  Wilkinson,  in  his  entertaining  Memoirs,  gives  us  a 
delisrhtful  instance  of  the  kind  of  moral  advice  which  was  to 


26  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

be  expected  from  a  typical  actress's  mamma.  A  young  lady 
named  Kitty  was  married  to  a  man  named  Burden,  who  was 
none  too  kind  to  her.  Whenever  Burden  gave  offence,  Kitty's 
mamma,  a  curious  character,  with  a  temper  that  blew  in 
gusts  from  every  point  of  the  compass,  and  with  what  Tate 
calls  '  the  finest  slip-slop  collection  of  words  imaginable,' 
would  advise  the  girl  to  leave  her  husband  and  take  up  with 
somebody  else,  in  a  harangue  to  the  following  effect : — 

'  "  Ma'am,  you  have  married  a  feller  beneath  you.  You  played 
Lucy  last  night  in  the  Minor  better  than  Mrs.  Gibber  could,  upon 
my  soul ;  and  yet  this  scoundrel  would  hurt  such  a  divine  cretur  !  " — 
"True,  mamma,"  replied  her  daughter,  "but  suppose  he  should  in 
rage  and  despair  cut  his  throat?" — "  Cut  his  throat !  let  him  cut 
his  throat  and  go  to  the  Devil !  but  he  won't  cut  his  throat ;  no 
such  good  luck.  But  1  '11  tell  you  what,  ma'am,  if  you  contradict 
me,  I'll  fell  you  at  my  feet,  and  trample  over  your  corse,  ma'am. 
Your  father,  on  his  death-bed,  told  me  you  was  a  limb.  You  are 
pure  as  ermind  (except  with  Sir  Francis  Dolvol),  and  you  shan't 
live  with  your  husband,  ma'am  ;  you  have  no  business  to  live  with 
your  husband.  The  first  women  of  quality,  ma'am,  don't  live  with 
their  husbands,  ma'am.  Does  Mrs.  Elmy  live  with  her  husband? 
No,  ma'am.  Does  Mrs.  Clive  live  with  her  husband  ?  No.  ma'am. 
Does  Mrs.  Gibber  live  with  her  husband  1  No,  ma'am.  So  now, 
ma'am,  you  see  the  best  women  of  fashion  upon  earth  don't  live 
with  their  husbands,  ma'am."' 

It  must  be  sorrowfully  admitted  that  the  lives  of  great 
actresses — at  any  rate,  of  actresses  of  the  Georgian  period — 
do  not  remind  us  of  any  such  edifying  resolves  as  Longfellow 
tells  us  the  lives  of  all  great  men  do.  Some  of  the  ladies 
here  presented  wrote  Apologies  for  their  own  lives ;  and  it 
may  perhaps  be  expected  that  I  should  perform  a  similar 
office  for  several  of  the  remainder.  But  I  have  preferred  to 
represent  them  as  they  were,  and  leave  the  reader  to  do  his 
own  moralising  wherever  necessary. 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON) 

The  eighteenth  century  produced  few  instances  of  so  signal 
a  change  of  fortune  as  befell  Lavinia  Fenton,  the  '  nobody's 
child/  bred  up  in  a  London  coffee-house,  who  attained  to 
the  highest  rank  in  the  English  peerage.  Though  on  the 
stage  for  no  more  than  two  years,  her  success  as  the  heroine 
of  the  most  popular  play  of  the  century  was  so  extraordinary 
that  no  actress,  either  before  or  since,  has  ever  been  so  much 
'  the  rage,'  And  after  her  retirement,  at  twenty  years  of  age, 
she  appears  to  have  shown  herself  a  woman  of  so  much  good 
sense,  good  taste,  and  lively  wit,  that  one  cannot  but  regret 
the  extreme  meagreness  of  the  particulars  that  have  come 
down  to  us  of  her  life  and  character. 

In  1728,  apparently  just  before  she  abandoned  the  stage, 
there  appeared  a  little  catch-penny  volume  of  forty-eight 
pages,  which  purported  to  give  her  biography  up-to-date. 
It  is  doubtless  a  mixture  of  fact  and  fiction,  which  nobody 
could  now  disentangle;  but  some  of  its  statements  have 
been  corroborated ;  and  the  rest  of  the  narrative  is  perhaps 
not  much  more  inaccurate  than  many  of  the  notices  of 
living  celebrities  which  are  weekly  served  up  in  our  modern 
society  journals.  Its  title-page,  which  is  a  curiosity  worth 
quoting  in  its  entirety,  runs  as  follows : — 

THE  LIFE  OF  LAVINIA  BESWICK, 
alias  FENTON,  alias  POLLY  PEACHUM : 

containing 

Her  Birth  and  Education.     Her  Intrigues  at  a  Boarding  School. 
Her  first  Acquaintance  with  a  certain  Portuguese  Nobleman.     The 

27 


28  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Time  when,  and  Person  to  whom,  she  bestow'd  her  first  Favours. 
A  Particular  Account  of  her  Conversation  with  a  Mercer,  noAv 
living  near  the  Royal  ExcJiange.  Of  the  Portuguese  Nobleman 
being  confin'd  in  the  Fleet,  and  the  honourable  Method  she  took 
to  gain  him  his  Liberty.  A  Copy  of  Verses  which  she  composed 
on  a  Fop,  which  conducted  to  her  Acquaintance  with  Mr.  Enddy, 
for  whose  Benefit,  at  the  new  Theatre  in  the  Hay-Market  she  first 
appear'd  on  the  Stage.  A  Particular  Account  of  a  Benefit  she 
shar'd  with  one  Mr.  Gill)ert,  a  few  Weeks  after  Mr.  Buddy's  at 
the  same  Theatre.  Her  first  Admittance  into  the  Theatre  Royal 
in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  :  her  Weekly  Salary,  both  now  and  then ; 
and  the  Time  when,  and  the  Cause  why,  it  was  rais'd.  Of  her 
Wit  gaining  her  more  Lovers  than  her  Beauty.  The  Horse- 
Courser  dismounted,  yet  saves  his  Distance.  A  Poet  strutting 
under  the  Protection  of  the  Nine  Muses.  Another  Poet,  who 
would  attack  Ulysses  and  Penelope  in  a  barbarous  Manner  is  severely 
handled  by  Polly  in  a  Satyrical  Stanza.  Her  Judgment  in  Poetry 
and  History-Painting.  And  the  reasonable  Reason  why  so  many 
great  Men  have  become  her  Humble  Servants. 

The  Whole  interspers'd  with  convincing  Proofs  of  her 
Ingenuity,  Wit,  and  Smart  Eepartees. 

And  concluding  with  some  remarkable  Instances  of  her 
Humanity  to  the  Distressed.' 

Like  the  placards  of  some  of  our  evening  newspapers,  this 
inviting  title-page  promises  the  purchaser  rather  more  for 
his  money  than  he  actually  gets.  And  it  cannot  be  ad- 
mitted that  Lavinia  Fenton's  anonymous  biographer  has 
altogether  achieved  his  ambition  of  adding,  if  possible, '  a 
further  lustre  to  the  great  name  she  has  already  acquired.' 

The  lady,  it  appears,  was  born  in  London  in  1708,  and 
was  the  fruit  of  an  amour  between  her  mother  and  a  certain 
lieutenant  in  the  Navy,  named  Beswick.  The  father  was 
called  away  to  sea  before  the  birth  of  the  child ;  and  as  he 
had  left  instructions  that  if  it  proved  to  be  a  girl  she  should 
be  named  Lavinia,  that  was  accordingly  done.  But  as  he 
did  not  return,  or  even  report  himself,  the  mother,  while 
Lavinia  was  still  an  infant,  married  one  Fenton,  a  resident 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     29 

in  the  Old  Bailey ;  and  soon  aftor  their  marriage  this  couple 
set  up  a  coffee-house  near  Charing  Cross.  London  coffee- 
houses in  those  days,  it  must  be  remembered,  were  the 
representatives  of  the  modern  club,  and  were  frequented  by 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  who  either  desired  conversa- 
tion or  were  in  search  of  news.  Young  Lavinia  (who  took 
her  step-father's  name  of  Fenton)  appears  to  have  been  a 
child  of  precocious  and  lively  spirit;  for  even  at  the  age 
of  seven  or  eight  she  was  a  favourite  plaything  of  the  fops 
who  frequented  her  mother's  house :  and  later  on,  when 
she  exhibited  '  some  singular  turns  of  wit,'  as  well  as  some 
faculty  for  singing  such  little  catches  as  she  had  picked 
up  from  the  '  humming  beaux  '  who  were  always  about  the 
place,  much  notice  was  taken  of  her  by  a  certain  comedian 
belonging  to  '  the  Old  House,'  who  took  great  delight  in 
hearing  her  sing  these  ditties,  and  taught  her  some  more. 
After  a  time  she  was  sent  to  a  boarding-school ;  where  she 
remained  up  to  the  age  of  thirteen  only ;  but  her  step-father 
must  have  had  some  notion  of  her  artistic  faculty,  for  he 
is  reported  to  have  had  her  instructed  in  singing  by  the 
best  masters  he  could  afford.  According  to  the  anonymous 
biographer  already  mentioned,  and  to  certain  broad-sheets 
and  pamphlets  issued  after  she  had  become  celebrated, 
Lavinia  had  a  number  of  amorous  adventures  before  there 
was  any  thought  of  her  going  on  the  stage.  While  still  a 
school-girl  she  is  said  to  have  not  only  attracted  the  atten- 
tions of  a  student  of  the  Inner  Temple,  but  to  have  fallen 
desperately  in  love  with  him  herself;  so  that  it  was  a 
great  disappointment  to  her  when  this  young  man,  having 
made  inquiries  and  discovered  his  inamorata  to  be  the 
daughter  of  a  coffee-house  keeper,  incontinently  disappeared. 
We  are  also  told  that  before  she  was  seventeen  her  mother 
made  a  bargain  to  surrender  her  to  'a  certain  ludicrous 
knight  known  as  the  Feathered  Gull,'  for  £200  down,  and 


30  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

£200  per  annum  as  long  as  slie  remained  constant  to  him. 
But  while  the  mother  was  thus  seeking  to  make  a  bargain 
for  her  own  profit,  Lavinia  was  quietly  looking  out  for  her- 
self; and  one  Friday  in  1725,  a  coach  which  had  waited  for 
the  purpose  several  hours  in  the  Old  Bailey  (whither  her 
parents  had  returned,  presumably  to  another  coffee-house), 
carried  the  young  woman  off  to  the  house  of  a  certain 
Portuguese  nobleman,  whose  name  does  not  appear.  After 
keeping  her  a  very  short  time,  this  gentleman  brought  her 
home  to  her  mother,  and  promised  to  make  a  suitable 
provision  for  her.  But  it  was  a  promise  which  he  found 
it  easier  to  make  than  to  perform,  for,  having  outrun  the 
constable,  before  long  he  found  himself  lodged  in  the  Fleet. 
Lavinia  visited  him  while  there  in  order  to  condole  with 
him;  but  he  told  her  he  should  be  liberated  as  soon  as 
remittances  could  reach  him  from  his  own  countr}^,  and  in 
the  meantime  he  wished  her  to  continue  enjoying  herself 
about  town,  without  troubling  in  any  way  about  his  mis- 
fortunes. Lavinia,  however,  immediately  went  oS  and  sold 
all  her  jewellery  (most  of  which  had  been  given  her  by  him), 
and  with  the  money  so  obtained  at  once  effected  his  release. 
He  then  found  it  convenient  to  return  for  a  time  to  Portu- 
gal ;  whence  he  sent  her  a  present  of  £400.  A  ballad  about 
her,  printed  in  1728,  asserts  that — 

'  Men  of  high  degree 
Are  as  fond  of  thee 

As  the  German  Count  thy  Keeper,' 

and  specifies,  amongst  others,  '  old  Sir  R F ,  Lord 

J y,  and  Sir  J H ,'  whoever  they  may  have  been. 

But  it  is  only  fair  to  state  that  not  only  is  there  no  corrobora- 
tion of  these  stories  (which  are  of  the  kind  that  were  frequently 
made  on  very  slight  foundation,  and  sometimes  even  with- 
out any  foundation  whatever,  in  those  days),  but  that  other 
contemporaries   assure   us   there  was  nothing  irregular  in 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     31 

her  earlier  life;  while,  after  her  appearance  on  the  stage, 
she  obtained  much  credit  by  rejecting  the  kind  of  offers 
which  a  beautiful  young  woman  in  her  situation  would  be 
sure  to  receive  in  abundance,  and,  until  the  Duke  of  Bolton 
paid  his  addresses  to  her,  remained  deaf  to  all  amorous 
proposals. 

Her  introduction  to  the  stage  Avas  brought  about  by  a 
Mr.  Huddy  (afterwards  manager  of  a  strolling  company), 
who,  being  turned  out  of  the  playhouse  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields  in  February  1726,  had  the  consolation  of  a  benefit 
offered  him,  about  a  month  later,  at  the  new  theatre  in  the 
Haymarket.  Presumably  Mr.  Huddy  had  been  one  of  the 
frequenters  of  her  mother's  coffee-house,  and  had  given  her 
some  tuition ;  but,  however  that  may  be,  he  selected  her  to 
play  the  part  of  Monimia  in  Otway's  Orphan  on  the  occa- 
sion of  this  benefit  of  his ;  and,  we  are  told,  '  though  it  was 
her  first  time,  she  gained  such  applause  that  she  had  several 
presents  made  her,  and  some  billets.'  One  of  Charles  Mack- 
lin's  biographers  informs  us  that — 

'she  was  soon  considered  a  rising  actress,  and  obtained  from 
the  town  a  very  considerable  share  of  applause,  accompanied  with 
several  valuable  presents,  which  was  the  mode  of  conferring  favours 
on  the  performers  of  those  days,  without  any  impeachment  of  the 
latter's  character,  either  for  meanness,  infidelity,  etc.  They  were 
considered  as  pledges  of  public  esteem,  and  as  such  shown  by  the 
performers  to  their  friends  and  acquaintances.' 

Of  the  billets  which  she  received  her  biographer  favours 
us  with  a  specimen  in  the  following  letter  from  a  young 
ensign,  which  we  are  assured  is  accurately  transcribed  from 
the  original : — 

'  Madam,  You  may  be  a  Person  of  Honour  for  ought  I  know  to 
the  contrary,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  so  honourable  as  not  to  let 
a  Man  of  Honour  die  dishonourably  at  your  Feet ;  for  by  Heavens  ! 
though  I  thought  nothing  so  bright  as  my  Sword,  yet  I  find  your 


32  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Eyes  are  much  brighter.  My  Dear,  Dear  guardian  Angel,  could 
you  conceive  the  Anxiety  I  suffer  on  your  Account  you  would 
surely  pity  me ;  for  there 's  never  an  Officer  in  our  Regiment  but 
takes  notice  of  my  being  changed  (since  I  saw  you  upon  the 
Stage),  from  the  most  lively,  brisk,  fashionable,  mannerly,  genteel 
Beau  in  the  whole  Army,  to  the  most  dull,  insipid,  slovenly,  out- 
o'-th'-way  temper'd  Dunce  in  Christendom.  Damn  me.  Madam, 
if  I  am  not  so  overcharged  with  Love  that  my  Heart,  which  is 
the  Bullet  in  the  Barrel  of  my  Body,  will  certainly  burst  and  blow 
me  into  Atoms  if  I  have  not  your  Help  to  discharge  the  Burthen ; 
and  then.  Blood !  Madam !  I  am  guilty  of  so  many  Blunders  and 
Mistakes  in  the  Execution  of  my  Office  that  I  am  become  a 
Laughing-stock  to  the  whole  Army.  Yesterday  I  put  my  Sword 
on  the  wrong  Side ;  and  this  Morning  I  came  into  the  Park  with 
one  of  my  Stockings  the  Inside  outward ;  and  instead  of  applying 
myself  to  the  Colonel  in  the  usual  Terms  of  Most  noble  Sir  I  I 
look'd  pale,  and  with  an  affected  damn'd  Cringe,  call'd  him  Madam. 
Thus,  Madam,  you  see  how  far  I  am  gone  already.  Then  to 
Keep  me  from  Bedlam,  take  me  to  your  Arms,  when  I  will  lay 
down  my  Arms,  and  be  your  Slave  and  Vassal.' 

Five  weeks  after  Huddy's  benefit,  she  shared  a  benefit 
with  '  one  Mr.  Gilbert,'  when  she  acted  the  part  of  Cherry 
Boniface  in  Farquhar's  Beaux'  Stratagem  in  so  winning  a 
manner  as  to  gain  her  the  favour  of  certain  noblemen,  who 
used  their  influence  to  get  her  into  a  company  of  young 
comedians  that  acted  twice  a  week  during  the  summer 
season  at  the  playhouse  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  conducting 
their  operations  apparently  on  '  the  sharing  system,'  Here 
she  gained  so  much  applause  that  Rich  was  induced  to 
include  her  in  his  company  for  the  ensuing  winter,  at  a 
salary  of  fifteen  shillings  a  week.  She  gained  new  admirers 
every  time  she  appeared  on  the  stage,  says  her  anonymous 
biographer,  and  persons  of  the  highest  rank  and  quality 
made  love  to  her,  insomuch  that  by  the  presents  she 
received  she  was  able  to  live  in  ease  and  plenty,  and  '  appear 
abroad  in  as  much  magnificence  as  a  lady.'  All  these  pre- 
sents, it  is  to  be  understood,  were  of  the  legitimate  kind 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     33 

already  mentioned ;  and  although  she  had  plenty  of  ofifers 
of  another  kmd,  her  conduct  remained  conspicuously  dis- 
creet. Amongst  others,  says  the  biographer  of  Macklin 
already  quoted,  a  young  libertine  of  very  high  rank  fell  so 
desperately  in  love  with  her,  that  he  offered  to  relinquish 
all  the  pleasures  of  the  town,  in  which  he  took  so  distin- 
guished a  lead,  and  retire  with  her  into  the  country,  upon 
any  terms,  short  of  marriage,  she  would  propose.  And  by 
her  disdainful  rejection  of  this  offer,  which  was  well  known, 
she  considerably  added  to  her  good  reputation.  Probably 
this  gentleman  Avas  the  fop  mentioned  by  her  biographer, 
who  wished  to  take  her  to  a  little  village  on  his  estate  near 
Richmond,  in  Yorkshire,  and  to  whom  she  addressed  the 
following  verses : — 

'  Vain  Fop,  to  court  rue  to  a  rural  life, 
Let  him  reserve  that  Usage  for  a  Wife. 
A  Mistress,  sure,  may  claim  more  Liberty, 
Unbound  by  Nature,  and  by  Law  she 's  free. 
Monster  !  thy  country  Cottage  I  disdain, 
In  London  let  me  live,  and  let  me  reign  ; 
The  seat  of  Pleasure,  where  we,  unconfin'd, 
Delight  the  Body,  and  improve  the  Mind. 
To  Park  we  range,  where  Youth  and  Beauty  shines, 
There  we  intrigue,  and  manage  brave  Designs. 
Give  me  a  Play,  a  Ball,  a  Masquerade, 
And  let  who  will  enjoy  your  lonesome  Shade, 
Lavinia  for  more  noble  Ends  was  made.' 

If  not  quite  up  to  the  mark  of  her  model,  the  '  little  great 
man'  of  Twickenham,  these  verses  are  passable  enough  as 
the  composition  of  a  young  woman,  the  daughter  of  a  coffee- 
house-keeper, who  had  left  school  at  thirteen  years  of  age. 
She  had  so  much  wit,  we  are  told,  and  was  so  well  acquainted 
with  men  and  things,  that  her  company  was  much  sought 
after ;  and  only  men  of  honour,  as  well  as  sense  and  gener- 
osity, were  '  admitted  to  be  of  her  cabinet  council'  But  the 
few  specimens  which  are  given  of  her  '  merry  sayings  and 

c 


34  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

smart  returns  of  gallantry '  scarcely  bear  out  her  biographer's 
eulogium.  She  was  once  in  company  with  a  fine  gentleman 
and  a  fop,  we  are  told,  who  each  in  turn  addressed  her,  and 
each  in  turn  received  such  very  ingenious  and  suitable 
answers  that  the  fop  was  confounded,  and  the  fine  gentle- 
man so  enchanted  with  her  wit  and  good  sense,  that  he 
became  from  that  time  forth  her  slave  and  vassal. 

'"Madam,"  said  the  Fop,  "you  have  a  very  fine  hand,  which 
adds  a  great  grace  to  your  person." — "  Sir,"  said  Polly,  "you  have 
a  very  fine  snufi'-box,  which  adds  a  singular  grace  to  yours." 
"Madam,"  said  he,  "be  pleased  to  take  a  pinch  out  of  it"  (at  the 
same  time  presenting  it  with  a  ridiculous  aff'ected  air) — "  my  snufi" 
is  very  good  for  the  brain," — "  Sir,"  said  she,  "  I  frequently  observe 
where  the  brain  is  defective,  snuff  is  of  great  use,  and  though  it 
cannot  properly  be  called  either  a  restorative  or  a  provocative,  yet 
certainly  it  is  a  good  preparative  to  expel  dulness."  "You  are 
very  witty  and  satirical,  Madam,"  said  he. — "Sir,"  said  she,  "if 
your  snuff  would  inspire  me  with  wit,  I  would  satirise  upon  your 
box." ' 

This  was  the  'smart  return'  which  confounded  the  fop: 
the  wit  which  enslaved  the  fine  gentleman  is  not  more 
brilliant;  but, as  a  knavish  jest  sleeps  in  a  foolish  ear,  per- 
haps the  want  of  point  may  be  set  down  to  the  dulness  of 
the  reporter. 

In  January  1728  Miss  Fenton  appeared  as  Polly  Peachum 
in  The  Beggars  Opera,  the  first  musical  play  of  its  kind, 
which,  after  having  been  rejected  by  Gibber  and  his  brother 
patentees  at  Drury  Lane,  had  been  accepted  by  Rich  for  the 
theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  The  Beggars'  Opera  had 
been  written  partly  in  ridicule  of  the  Italian  Opera,  Avhich 
at  that  time  appeared  to  be  ousting  the  legitimate  drama 
from  its  place,  and  partly  as  a  satire  on  the  Court,  the 
Government,  and  the  state  of  society  in  general.  The  idea 
of  it  seems  to  have  originated  with  Swift,  who  one  day 
remarked  to  Gay  what  an  odd,  pretty  sort  of  a  thing  a  New- 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     35 

gate  Pastoral  might  make.  But  when  Gay,  acting  on  this 
hint,  treated  the  subject  as  an  opera,  neither  Swift  nor  Pope 
Ukecl  it  very  much;  and  although  the  latter  contributed 
some  songs  satirising  the  Court  and  the  ministers,  both  he 
and  Swift  had  great  doubts  of  its  success.  Spence  reports 
Pope  as  saying : 

'  We  were  all  at  the  first  night  of  it,  in  great  uncertainty  of  the 
event;  till  we  were  very  much  encouraged  b}^  overhearing  the 
Duke  of  Argyll,  who  sat  in  the  next  box  to  us,  say,  "It  will  do — 
it  must  do !  I  see  it  in  the  eyes  of  them."  This  was  a  good  while 
before  the  first  act  was  oyer,  and  so  gave  us  ease  soon ;  for  that 
Duke  (besides  his  own  good  taste),  has  a  particular  knack  as  any 
one  now  living  in  discovering  the  taste  of  the  public.  He  was 
quite  right  in  this,  as  usual;  the  good  nature  of  the  audience 
appeared  stronger  and  stronger  every  act,  and  ended  in  a  clamour 
of  applause.' 

Pope's  remark,  as  reported,  leaves  us  in  doubt  whether  he 
meant  to  imply  that  the  Duke's  good  taste  approved  the 
play,  or  whether  he  only  perceived  that  it  would  suit  the 
bad  taste  of  the  public.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  a  drama 
of  the  most  squalid  and  shocking  depravity.  The  hero, 
Macheath,  is  captain  of  a  gang  of  highwaymen;  and  the 
other  principal  characters  are  Polly  Peachum  and  Lucy 
Lockit,  two  out  of  the  numerous  girls  he  has  deceived,  each 
of  whom  believes  herself  to  be  his  wife ;  Peachum,  a  thief- 
taker,  who  is  also  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods;  Lockit,  a 
brutal  and  rapacious  jailor;  the  rest  being  highwaymen, 
pick-pockets,  and  dissolute  women  of  the  town.  The  piece 
is  full  of  the  sordid  details  of  the  lives  of  thieves,  both  in 
and  out  of  Newgate;  and  the  sentiments  expressed  are 
what  might  be  expected  of  such  characters.  The  satire 
consists  in  the  perpetual  comparison  of  these  scoundrels  to 
ministers  and  courtiers,  and  the  implication  that  their 
manners  and  sentiments  are  the  manners  and  sentiments  of 
high  society.     As  the  author  himself  says,  such  a  similitude 


36     COMEDY  (QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

is  shown  between  the  manners  of  high  and  low  life 
throughout  the  whole  play,  that  it  is  difficult  to  determine 
whether  in  their  fashionable  vices  the  fine  gentlemen 
imitate  the  gentlemen  of  the  road,  or  the  gentlemen  of  the 
road  the  fine  gentlemen.  Peachum  is  like  a  great  minister 
in  being  the  director  of  a  gang  of  thieves,  in  playing  a 
double  game  and  taking  money  with  both  hands,  in  getting 
his  friends  caught  and  hanged  to  save  his  own  neck  on 
occasion,  in  using  parliamentary  language  to  disguise  acts 
of  scoundrelism,  and  in  his  eloquent  indignation  whenever 
there  is  the  slightest  reflection  on  his  '  honour.'  Some  of 
the  political  allusions  pointed  strongly  to  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole;  and  in  the  scene  wherein  Peachum  and  Lockit  are 
represented  as  squaring  up  the  accounts  of  their  illicit 
gains,  when  the  latter  sang — 

'  When  you  censure  the  age, 

Be  cautious  and  sage, 
Lest  the  courtiers  offended  should  be  ; 

If  you  mention  vice  or  bribe, 

'Tis  so  pat  to  all  the  tribe, 
Each  cries — That  toas  levelled  at  me^ 

the  whole  audience  instinctively  turned  their  eyes  on  the 
stage-box  where  the  minister  was  sitting,  and  then  loudly 
encored  the  song.  The  opening  song  of  the  piece,  in  which 
Peachum  declares  that — 

'  — the  statesman,  because  he 's  so  great, 
Thinks  /lis  trade  as  honest  as  mine,' 

was  generally  thought  to  be  pointed  at  Walpole ;  and  when, 
in  the  course  of  the  second  act,  Peachum  and  Lockit 
quarrelled  and  took  one  another  by  the  throat,  tlie  scene 
was  so  well  understood  to  allude  to  a  recent  notorious 
quarrel  between  the  Prime  Minister  and  Lord  Townshend, 
that  the  house  was  convulsed  with  laughter.  The  piece 
had  a  run  such  as  had  not  been  hitherto  known  in  the 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     37 

history  of  the  stage,  and  its  success  was  so  extraordinary 
that  as  a  wit  remarked,  it  made  Gay  rich  and  Rich  fjay. 
We  are  told  in  one  of  the  notes  to  the  Dunciad  that — 

'Besides  being  acted  in  London  sixty-three  days  without  inter- 
ruption, and  renewed  the  next  season  with  equal  applause,  it 
spread  into  all  the  great  towns  of  England ;  was  played  in  many 
places  to  the  thirtieth  and  fortieth  time,  at  Bath  and  Bristol 
fifty,  etc.  It  made  its  progress  into  Wales,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land, where  it  was  performed  thirty-four  days  successively.  The 
ladies  carried  about  with  them  the  favourite  songs  of  it  in  fans, 
and  houses  were  furnished  with  it  in  screens.  .  .  .  Further- 
more, it  drove  out  of  England  (for  that  season)  the  Italian  Opera, 
which  had  carried  all  before  it  for  ten  years.' 

And,  as  the  same  writer  informs  us,  the  fame  of  it  was 
not  confined  to  the  author  only ;  for  '  the  person  who  acted 
Polly,  till  then  obscure,  became  all  at  once  the  favourite  of 
the  town ;  her  pictures  were  engraved  and  sold  in  great  num- 
bers ;  her  life  written,  books  of  letters  and  verses  to  her 
published,  and  pamphlets  made  even  of  her  sayings  and 
jests.'  Unfortunately  none  of  these  various  publications 
are  of  the  slightest  use  biographically.  A  New  Ballad 
inscriped  [sic]  to  Polly  Peachum  is  merely  a  piece  of 
obscene  doggerel.  Letters  in  Prose  and  Verse  to  the  Cele- 
brated Polly  Peachum,  From  the  most  eminent  of  her 
Admirers  and  Rivals,  is  only  a  collection  of  dull  and  ill- 
written  imaginary  letters  from  '  Philander  Flush-Cheek,' 
the  mercer,  '  Sullivan  Slaver,'  of  the  Inner  Temple,  '  Sir 
Frightfool  Frizzle,'  and  other  professed  admirers,  who  per- 
haps were  recognisable  enough  in  1728.  And  the  book 
entitled  Polly  Peachum's  Jests  does  not  pretend  to  contain 
any  hon  mots  of  her  own,  but  to  be  a  mere  Joe  Miller 
collection,  which  was  named  after,  and  dedicated  to,  her  on 
account  of  her  extraordinary  vogue.  As  the  compiler  says 
in  his  dedicatory  epistle — 


38  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  Whilst  Peers,  enamour'd  with  thy  low  degree, 
Slight  the  brocaded  Fair,  to  sigh  for  Thee  ; 
Accejit  this  modest  Tribute,  nor  disclaim 
A  Work  that  asks  the  Sanction  of  thy  Name  ; 
Secure  (do  You  its  Patroness  but  shine) 
Of  ev'ry  one's  Applause,  ia  having  Thine.' 

Hogarth  painted  a  picture  of  one  of  the  principal  scenes 
(which  happens,  by  the  way,  to  be  the  only  representation 
extant  of  the  interior  of  the  Old  Theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields),  wherein  we  may  see  the  Duke  of  Bolton  and  other 
admirers  of  Miss  Fenton  in  the  side  boxes ;  Gay,  the  poet, 
and  Rich,  the  manager,  in  the  background ;  and  on  the 
stage,  Walker  as  Macheath,  Hall  as  Lockit,  Hippesley  as 
Peachum,  Clark  as  Filch,  Mrs.  Egleton  as  Lucy,  and  Miss 
Fenton  as  Polly. 

A  great  share  of  the  enormous  success  of  The  Beggars 
Opera  was  due  to  Miss  Fenton's  representation  of  Polly 
Peachum ;  and  it  is  said  that  her  rather  absurd  song — 

'  Oh  ponder  well !  be  not  severe  ; 
To  save  a  wretched  wife  ; 
For  on  the  rope  that  hangs  my  dear 
Depends  poor  Polly's  life,' 

was  sung  in  so  tender  and  affecting  a  manner  that  it  always 
brought  down  the  house ;  and  on  the  first  night  did  more 
than  anything  else  to  secure  the  success  of  the  piece.  Gay 
wrote  to  Swift  in  March  1728,  saying  that  after  the  thirty- 
sixth  representation  of  his  play,  the  theatre  was  as  full 
as  ever,  and  that  he  had  made  between  seven  and  eight 
hundred  pounds  out  of  it,  Avhile  manager  Rich  had  cleared 
nearly  four  thousand.  And  he  added — '  There  is  a  mezzo- 
tint© print  published  to-day  of  Polly,  the  heroine  of  The 
Beggar s  Opera,  who  was  before  unknown,  and  is  now  in  so 
high  vogue  that  I  am  in  doubt  Avhether  her  fame  does  not 
surpass  that  of  the  opera  itself  She  became  the  most 
celebrated  toast  in  town;  and  so  many  were  her  admirers 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     89 

that,  for  fear  she  should  be  run  away  with,  she  was  guarded 
home  from  the  theatre  every  night  by  a  party  of  confidential 
friends.     Even  manager  Rich  recognised  that  Miss  Fenton 
had  something  to  do  with  the  success  of  his  astonishingly 
profitable  venture;   and  he  munificently  raised  her  salary 
from   fifteen   shilKngs   to  —  thirty   shillings   a  week !       A 
theatrical  historian,  writing  at  the  beginning  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  noted  it  as  a  highly  curious  fact,  indicative 
of  a  great  change  in  the  condition  of  public  performers,  that 
whereas  in  the  year  1728  the  best  theatrical  singer  of  her 
day  could   obtain   no   more  than   thirty  shillings   a   week 
(which,  according  to  the  number  of  playing  weeks  in  the 
season,   would   amount   to   only   £45    a   year),   a  first-rate 
operatic  performer  in  the  year  1801  was  thought  worthy  of 
an  arbitration  between  two  rival  managers  contending  who 
should  have  her  at  the  rate  of  £3000  the  season  and  a  clear 
benefit.      As  he  apparently  thought  the  vast  increase   in 
remuneration  could  only  be  accounted  for  by  '  the  superior 
folly  and  dissipation  of  the  later  time,'  one  wonders  what 
he  would  have  said  could  his  days  have  been  prolonged  to 
the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  !     We  may  presume, 
however,  that  Miss  Fenton  was  thinking   of  other  things 
than  her  increase  of  salary ;  for  on  the  6th  of  July,  1728,  we 
find  Gay  writing  to  Swift :  '  The  Duke  of  Bolton,  I  hear,  has 
run  away  with  Polly  Peachum,  having  settled  £400  a  year 
upon  her  during  pleasure ;  and  upon  disagreement  £200  a 
year.'     Whether  these  were  the  exact  terms  of  their  agree- 
ment has  never  been  known  for  certain ;   but  there  is  no 
doubt  about  the  fact  that,  after  one  season  as  Polly  in  The 
Beggars  Opera,  Lavinia  Fenton  quitted  the  stage  and  be- 
came the  mistress  of  the  Duke  of  Bolton.     His  Grace  had  a 
wife  living,  whom  he  had  been  forced  by  his  father  to  marry 
in  1713  ;  but  on  his  father's  death  the  newly -fledged  Duke 
had  promptly  parted  from  his  Duchess   by  whom  he  had 


40  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

no  children ;  and  lie  had  been  separated  from  her  for  six 
years  when  he  took  Miss  Fenton  under  his  protection.  The 
first  Duchess  died  in  September  1751,  when  the  Duke 
almost  immediately  married  the  mistress  with  whom  he  had 
then  lived,  apparently  in  great  harmony,  for  twenty-three 
years.  She  had  three  children  by  him  while  she  was  his 
mistress,  but  none  after  she  had  become  his  wife.  Both  as 
mistress  and  as  wife,  we  are  told,  her  conduct  was  such  as 
to  attract  neither  envy  nor  reproach — '  if  we  except  the 
crime  of  attaching  herself  to  a  married  man.'  Dr.  Warton, 
in  one  of  his  notes  to  Swift's  correspondence,  tells  us  that — 

'  she  was  very  accomplished ;  was  a  most  agreeable  companion  ; 
had  much  wit,  and  strong  sense,  and  a  just  taste  in  polite  litera- 
ture. Her  person  was  agreeable  and  well  made  :  though  she 
could  not  be  called  a  beauty.  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  being  at 
table  with  her  when  her  conversation  was  much  admired  by  the 
first  characters  of  the  age,  particularly  old  Lord  Bathurst  and 
Lord  Granville.' 

Three  years  after  their  marriage  the  Duke  died.  The  title, 
of  course,  went  to  his  brother,  but  he  bequeathed  all  his 
estate,  real  and  personal,  to  his  '  dear  and  well-beloved  wife,' 
who  was  sole  executrix,  and  the  only  person  mentioned  in 
his  will.  She  survived  him  six  years,  dying  at  the  age  of 
fifty-two,  on  the  24th  of  January  1760,  at  West  Combe 
Park,  Greenwich,  and  being  buried  in  the  old  church  of 
St.  Alphege  there,  'with  all  appropriate  honours.'  A  few 
days  later,  Horace  Walpole  wrote  to  his  old  friend  Sir 
Horace  Mann : — 

'  The  famous  Polly,  Duchess  of  Bolton,  is  dead,  having,  after  a 
life  of  merit,  relapsed  into  her  Pollyhood.  Two  years  ago,  ill  at 
Tunbridge,  she  picked  up  an  Irish  surgeon.  When  she  was  dying, 
this  fellow  sent  for  a  lawyer  to  make  her  will,  but  the  man,  finding 
who  was  to  be  her  heir,  instead  of  her  children,  refused  to  draAV  it. 
The  Court  of  Chancery  did  furnish  one  other,  not  quite  so  scrupu- 


LAVINIA  FENTON  (DUCHESS  OF  BOLTON)     41 

lous,  and  her  three  sons  have  but  a  thousand  pounds  apiece,  the 
surgeon  about  nine  thousand.' 

Horace  Walpole  sometimes  had  a  spiteful  touch;  and  in 
this  case  he  may  not  have  been  altogether  fair  to  the  lady. 
For  aught  he  knew,  or  we  know,  there  may  have  been  good 
and  sufficient  reasons  for  her  disposition  of  her  property ; 
and,  at  any  r^te,  her  sons  had  been  amply  provided  for,  by 
a  settlement  made  in  the  lifetime  of  their  father.  There 
was  doubtless  something  for  the  rigid  moralist  to  condemn 
in  her  conduct,  but  if  we  take  into  consideration  the  low 
standard  of  manners  and  morals  which  prevailed  in  the 
earlier  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  above  which  a  poor 
player  girl  could  hardly  be  expected  to  erect  herself,  we  may 
perhaps  admit  the  plea  of  the  anonymous  scribbler  who 
wrote  of  her  before  she  had  become  a  Duchess — '  I  think 
she  may  pass  for  an  accomplished  worthy  lady,  if  the  public 
will  allow  an  actress  the  title.' 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE 

CoLLEY  Gibber,  poet  -  laureate,  popular  actor,  sparkling 
dramatist,  successful  manager,  and  —  by  virtue  of  liis 
Apology  for  his  own  life  (which  needed  none) — author 
of  the  most  entertaining  book  in  all  theatrical  literature, 
was  the  father  of  twelve  children ;  two  of  whom  have 
earned  for  themselves  conspicuous  niches  in  the  temple 
of  ill-fame.  With  his  scoundrelly  son,  Theophilus,  we  have 
here  no  concern.  But  it  may  be  worth  while  to  tell  anew 
as  far  as  possible  in  her  own  picturesque,  though  highly 
ungrammatical  phraseology,  the  story  of  his  youngest 
daughter,  Charlotte;  who  inherited  some  measure  of  her 
father's  literary  faculty,  and  favoured  the  world,  in  1755, 
with  a  narrative  of  her  singular  career,  in  which  a  very 
eccentric  character  is  revealed  in  one  of  the  queerest  bits  of 
autobiography  extant. 

The  year  of  Charlotte's  birth  is  not  known.  According 
to  The  Georgian  Era,  she  was  born  about  1715  ;  but  that 
date  is  at  least  five  years  too  late  to  fit  in  with  known  facts. 
Russell  in  his  Representative  Actors  (on  what  authority  does 
not  appear),  gives  the  date  of  her  birth  as  1710 ;  and,  as 
she  was  married  in  1729,  this  is  probably  much  nearer  the 
mark.  All  she  tells  us  herself  is  that  she  was  the  youngest 
of  Colley  Gibber's  children;  and  that,  although  she  was 
born  when  her  mother  was  forty-five  years  of  age,  and  when 
that  lady  naturally  considered  that  she  had  already  '  fully 
answered  the  end  of  her  creation,'  yet,  notwithstanding 
the  jealousy  of  the  elder  children,  she  was  not  regarded  as 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  43 

an  unwelcome  addition  to  the  family  by  her  parents,  who 
both  treated  her  with  peculiar  fondness.      Her  education, 
she  declares,  Avas  not  merely  a  genteel,  but  a  liberal  one ; 
such,  indeed,  as  might  have  been  sufficient  for  a  son  instead 
of  a  daughter.     But,  she  adds,  '  I  was  never  made  much 
acquainted  with  that  necessary   utensil  which  forms   the 
housewifery    part   of   a   young  lady's   education,   called   a 
needle,  which  I  handle  with  the  same  clumsy  awkwardness 
a  monkey  does  a  kitten ' ;  and  we  are  asked  to  attribute  to 
the  unusual  nature  of  her  early  studies  a  turn  of  mind  very 
different  from  what  might  have  been  expected  had  her  time 
been  occupied,  as  that  of  other  young  ladies  mainly  was, 
with  stitching  beasts,  birds,  and  the  letters  of  the  alphabet, 
on  to  a  bit  of  canvas.     The  oddity  of  her  character  showed 
itself  at  a  very  early  age;  and  w^  ^^^  informed  that  the 
recital  of  all  the  strange  mad  pranks  she  played  as  a  child 
would  fill  a  quarto.     The  earliest  of  these  escapades,  which 
occurred  in  her  fourth  year,  when  staying  at  a  house  which 
her  father  had  taken  for  the  summer  at  Twickenham,  may 
perhaps  be  thought  a  sufficient  specimen.     Possessed  with 
the  idea  that,  if  suitably  attired,  she  would  make  a  very 
good  representation   of  her  father,  she   got  up   early  one 
morning,  crept  down  into  the  servants'  hall  before  any  one 
was  stirring,  pinned  up   her  dimity   coat   as   well  as   she 
could  to  represent  a  pair  of  breeches,  donned  one  of  her 
brother's  waistcoats  and  an  enormous  tie-wig  of  her  father's, 
took  one  of  his  large  beaver  hats,  heavily  laden  with  lace, 
as  well  as  a  silver-hilted,  sword  and  its  belt,  and  thus  ac- 
coutred, quietly  stole  out  into  the  garden  and  rolled  herself 
into  a  dry  ditch,  as  deep  as  she  was  high,  which  divided  the 
garden  from  the  public  road.     Up  and  down  this  ditch  she 
then  walked,  bowing  gravely  to  everybody  who  passed  by ; 
and  before  long,  of  course,  attracting  a  croAvd  of  wondering 
people,  whose  laughter  at  her  grotesque  appearance  she  took 


44  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

for  admiring  applause.  This  performance  lasted  till  break- 
fast time,  when  the  young  mountebank  was  discovered  and 
carried  indoors,  much  to  her  own  disappointment,  and 
doubtless  also  to  that  of  the  good  people  of  Twickenham, 
who  must  have  been  greatly  amused  at  this  first  public 
appearance  of  the  daughter  of  the  patentee  of  Drury  Lane. 
When  eight  years  of  age  she  was  sent  to  '  a  famous  school ' 
in  Park  Street,  Westminster,  where  M.  Flahaut,  an  excellent 
master  of  languages,  taught  her  not  only  French,  but  also 
Italian  and  Latin. 

'Nor  was  my  tutor  satisfied  with  these  branches  of  learning 
alone,  for  he  got  leave  to  instruct  me  in  Geography,  which,  by  the 
by,  though  I  know  it  to  be  a  most  useful  and  pleasing  science,  I 
cannot  think  it  was  altogether  necessary  for  a  female ;  but  I  was 
delighted  at  being  thought  a  learned  person.' 

She  was  accordingly  furnished  with  proper  books  for  the 
study  of  this  useful  and  pleasing  science,  as  well  as  with 
two  globes,  celestial  and  terrestrial,  which  were  borrowed  of 
her  mother's  brother,  John  Shore,  Esq.,  the  serjeant-trum- 
peter  of  England,  of  whom  she  seems  to  have  opined,  as 
Festus  did  of  the  Apostle  Paul,  that  much  study  had  made 
him  mad.  And  her  own  vast  application  to  the  same 
abstruse  studies,  we  are  informed,  would  probably  have 
'  distracted '  her  likewise,  had  not  the  judicious  M.  Flahaut 
perceived  the  danger  and  abridged  her  tasks.  After  two 
years  of  this  'famous'  school,  she  was  allowed  to  have 
masters  at  home  to  finish  her  education,  M.  Flahaut  con- 
tinuing the  languages  and  other  severer  studies,  while  Mr. 
Young,  late  organist  of  St.  Clement  Danes,  instructed  her 
in  music,  and  the  celebrated  Mr.  Grosconet  in  dancing. 
When  it  was  thought  that  she  had  acquired  sufficient  pro- 
ficiency in  learning  and  elegant  accomplishments,  she  was 
sent  down  to  Hillingdon,  near  Uxbridge,  where  a  house  had 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  45 

been  taken  for  her  mother,  who  suffered  from  asthma,  and 
was  obliged  to  live  much  in  the  country.  But  the  young 
lady  found  country  life  in  the  winter  time  a  rather  dull 
business,  until  she  had  persuaded  her  mother  to  let  her  go 
out  shooting,  a  pastime  which  she  found  extremely  attrac- 
tive, and  in  which  she  became  a  great  proficient,  spending 
several  days  a  week  at  it  from  early  morn  till  dusk,  and 
usually  coming  home  'laden  with  feathered  spoil.'  But 
after  a  short  period  of  enjoyment,  some  strait-laced,  old- 
fashioned  friend  of  her  mother's  represented  this  occupation 
as  so  unladylike  a  proceeding  for  a  girl  of  fourteen  that 
poor  Charlotte  was  deprived  of  her  gun,  and  compelled  to 
kill  time  indoors  in  various  less  congenial  ways.  After  this 
(she  half  hints,  in  consequence  of  this)  she  had  an  illness ; 
on  her  recovery  from  which  her  mother  sent  her  to  stay 
with  a  Dr.  Hales  of  Thorly  in  Hertfordshire  (an  eminent 
physician  who  was  also  a  relation),  with  the  double  object  of 
improving  her  health,  and  of  getting  her  made  into  a  good 
housewife  by  the  instruction  and  example  of  the  doctor's 
wife  and  family.  But  she  admits  that  she  had  already 
imbibed  such  mistaken,  pedantic  notions  of  the  superiority 
of  scholarship  as  to  be  filled  with  a  stupid  contempt  for 
such  qualifications  as  would  have  made  her  less  trouble- 
some, and  a  great  deal  more  useful,  both  to  herself  and  to 
those  about  her,  than  she  ever  became.  At  Thorly  she  had 
several  examples  of  housewifely  perfection  before  her,  but 
with  no  good  effect. 

'  Many  and  vain  attempts  were  used  to  bring  me  into  their 
working  community ;  but  I  had  so  great  a  veneration  for  cattle 
and  husbandry,  it  was  impossible  for  them,  either  by  threats  or 
tender  advice,  to  bring  me  into  their  sober  scheme.  If  anything 
was  amiss  in  the  stable,  I  was  sure  to  be  the  first  and  head  of 
the  mob ;  but  if  all  the  fine  works  in  the  family  had  been  in  the 
fire,  I  should  not  have  forsook  the  curry-comb  to  have  en- 
deavoured to  save  them  from  the  utmost  destruction.' 


46  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

As  Charlotte  was  indulged  with  a  pony,  Dr.  Hales  would 
sometimes  ask  her  to  call  upon  one  or  other  of  his  neigh- 
bouring invalids  to  inquire  how  they  were  progressing,  and 
this  caused  the  yoiuig  woman  to  fancy  herself  something 
of  a  physician,  and  to  affect  a  solemnity  and  gravity  of 
aspect  such  as  she  observed  in  the  good  doctor.  She  says 
that  she  grew  passionately  fond  of  the  study  of  physic,  and 
was  never  so  happy  as  when  the  doctor  employed  her  in 
such  little  offices  as  she  could  be  entrusted  with  without 
prejudice  to  the  health  of  his  patients.  But  the  tuition 
in  housewifery  was  a  total  failure.  When,  at  the  end  of 
two  years,  Mrs.  Hales  died,  and  Charlotte  was  sent  back 
to  Hillingdon,  she  persuaded  her  mother  to  let  her  have 
a  disused  room  in  the  house  for  a  dispensary,  to  which 
she  invited  all  the  old  women  in  the  parish  to  come 
whenever  they  were  ailing.  She  learned  a  few  'physical 
hard  words '  from  a  Latin  dictionary,  in  order  to  astonish 
the  poor  patients,  and  impress  them  with  a  high  opinion  of 
her  skill  in  medical  science,  and  she  speedily  became  so 
popular  that  the  old  women  of  the  neighbourhood  came  to 
her  in  crowds.  She  had  procured  a  stock  of  drugs  from  the 
widow  of  an  apothecary  at  Uxbridge,  who,  knowing  her 
family  well,  had  trusted  her  with  '  a  cargo  of  combustibles 
which  was  sufficient  to  have  set  up  a  mountebank  for  a 
twelvemonth.'  Nevertheless  this  stock  was  very  soon 
exhausted,  for,  she  says,  '  the  silly  old  devils  began  to 
fancy  themselves  ill  because  they  could  get  physic  for 
nothing,'  and  before  she  could  obtain  a  fresh  supply  the 
bill  of  the  apothecary's  widow  came  in  to  her  father  for 
payment,  and  he  promptly  gave  orders  that  '  Dr.  Charlotte ' 
was  not  to  have  any  further  credit.  Deprived  thus  of 
orthodox  drugs  she  had  recourse  for  a  time  to  herbs. 

'One  day  a  poor  old  woman  coming  to  me  with  a  violent  com- 
plaint of  rheumatic  pains  and  a  terrible  disorder  in  her  stomach,  I 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  47 

was  at  a  dreadful  loss  what  remedy  to  apply,  and  dismissed  her 
with  an  assurance  of  sending  her  something  to  ease  her,  by  an 
inward  and  outward  application  before  she  went  to  bed.  It  hap- 
pened that  day  proved  very  rainy,  which  put  it  into  my  strange 
pate  to  gather  up  all  the  snails  in  the  garden,  of  which,  from  the 
heavy  shower  that  had  fallen,  there  was  a  superabundant  quantity. 
I  immediately  fell  to  work,  and  of  some  part  of  them,  with  coarse 
brown  sugar,  made  a  syrup,  a  spoonful  of  which  was  to  be  taken 
once  in  two  hours.  Boiling  the  rest  to  a  consistence,  with  some 
green  herbs  and  mutton  fat,  I  made  an  ointment,  and,  clapping 
conceited  labels  upon  the  phial  and  the  gallipot,  sent  my  prepara- 
tion, with  a  joyous  bottle  of  hartshorn  and  sal-volatile  I  purloined 
from  my  mother,  to  add  a  grace  to  my  prescription.' 

As  luck  would  have  it  the  old  woman  quickly  got  better, 
and  within  three  days  came  again  to  Charlotte  to  relate  the 
wondrous  effect  of  her  physic,  and  to  beg  for  a  repetition  of 
the  prescription.  But  meanwhile  a  drought  had  set  in,  and 
as  there  were  no  more  snails  to  be  found  *  Dr.  Charlotte  ' 
assured  the  old  woman  that  a  too  early  repetition  of  the 
remedy  was  very  unadvisable,  as  it  might  thereby  lose  its 
effect,  and  advised  her  to  take  no  more  physic  now  that  her 
pains  were  no  longer  violent,  but  to  keep  herself  warm  and 
drink  no  malt  liquors.  But  in  the  absence  of  a  stock 
of  drugs  Charlotte's  medical  practice  became  a  rather  tire- 
some business,  and  she  soon  gave  it  up.  Providence  was 
exceedingly  kind  to  her,  she  says ;  for  though  perhaps  she 
did  nobody  any  positive  good,  she  never  had  the  least  mis- 
fortune happen  to  any  of  the  credulous  old  crones  who 
trusted  themselves  in  her  inexperienced  hands. 

Her  next  hobby  was  gardening,  in  which  pleasing  and 
healthful  exercise  she  spent  most  part  of  her  time  every 
day  as  long  as  the  fancy  lasted.  She  always  thought  it 
proper  to  imitate  the  actions  and  language  of  those  persons 
whose  characters  for  the  time  being  she  might  be  said  to 
represent.     When  acting  as  gardener,  after  having  worked 


48  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

for  two  or  three  hours  of  a  morning,  she  would  have  'a 
broiled  rasher  of  bacon  on  a  luncheon  of  bread,'  which  she 
ate  as  she  walked  about,  with  a  pruning-knife  in  her  other 
hand ;  and  seeds  and  plants  would  be  the  subjects  of  her 
discourse  at  all  hours.  When  she  was  groom,  she  would 
bring  a  halter  or  a  horse-cloth  into  the  house,  throw  it 
down  awkwardly  on  a  chair,  shrug  her  shoulders,  scratch 
her  head,  call  for  a  glass  of  small  beer  to  be  brought  in 
haste,  and  remark,  '  I  haven't  a  single  horse  dressed  or 
watered,  and  here  'tis  almost  eight  o'clock :  the  poor  cattle 
will  think  I  have  forgot  'em,'  or  something  to  a  similar 
effect.  While  her  father  was  in  France,  the  servant,  who 
combined  the  offices  of  groom  and  gardener  at  Hillingdon, 
got  violently  drunk,  and  so  abused,  not  only  his  fellow- 
servants,  but  his  mistress  also,  that  he  was  promptly  dis- 
missed. Charlotte  was  overjoyed  at  such  a  stroke  of  good 
luck,  for  it  left  her  in  sole  possession  of  the  field ;  and  she 
went  regularly  each  day  'with  that  orderly  care  to  my 
separate  employments  that  is  generally  the  recommendatory 
virtue,  for  the  first  month  only,  of  a  new-hired  servant.' 
Mrs.  Gibber  believed  the  discharged  man  to  be  dishonest ; 
and  when  traces  of  his  footsteps  were  said  to  be  found 
under  some  of  the  windows  on  the  night  after  his  dis- 
missal, she  became  greatly  alarmed,  and  had  visions  of 
burglars  breaking  in  and  murdering  them  all  in  their 
beds.  This  was  another  opportunity  for  Charlotte,  Avho 
was  ardently  ambitious  to  be  known  as  a  woman  of 
masculine  courage.  She  ordered  all  the  plate  to  be  de- 
posited in  her  bedroom,  and  told  her  mother  to  fear 
nothing,  for  she  would  protect  the  house  from  burglars 
at  the  hazard  of  her  life. 

'  I  stripped  the  hall  and  kitchen  of  their  firearms,  wliich  con- 
sisted of  my  own  little  carbine,  which  I  had,  through  the  old  maid's 
persuasion,  been  stripped  of  long  before,  a  heavy  blunderbuss,  a 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  49 

musketoon,  and  two  brace  of  pistols  ;  all  of  which  I  had  loaded 
with  a  couple  of  bullets  each  before  I  went  to  bed ;  not  with  any 
design,  on  my  word,  to  yield  to  my  repose,  but  absolutely  kept 
awake  three  long  and  tedious  hours,  which  was  from  twelve  to 
three,  the  time  I  thought  most  likely  for  an  invasion.  But  no 
such  thing  happened,  for  not  a  mortal  approached,  on  which  I 
thought  myself  undone,  till  a  friendly  dog,  who  barked  at  the 
moon,  gave  a  happy  signal,  and  I  bounced  from  my  repository, 
with  infinite  obligations  to  the  cur,  and  fired  out  of  the  window 
piece  after  piece,  re-charging  as  fast  as  possible,  till  I  had  con- 
sumed about  a  pound  of  powder,  and  a  proportionable  quantity  of 
shot  and  balls.  'Tis  not  to  be  supposed  but  the  family  was  on 
my  first  onset  in  this  singular  battle  .  .  .  soon  alarmed.  The 
frequent  reports  and  violent  explosions  encouraged  my  kind 
promptor  to  this  farce  to  change  his  lucky  bark  into  an  absolute 
howl,  which  strongly  corroborated  with  all  that  had  been  thought 
and  said  in  regard  to  an  attempt  upon  the  house.  My  trembling 
mother,  who  lay  half  expiring  with  dreadful  imaginations,  rang 
her  bell,  which  summons  I  instantly  obeyed,  firmly  assuring  her 
that  all  danger  was  over,  for  that  I  heard  the  villain  decamp  on 
the  first  firing.' 

Charlotte  says  that  nothing  but  her  mother's  excessive 
fondness  could  have  induced  her  to  tolerate  such  unpre- 
cedented and  ridiculous  follies  as  she  was  guilty  of;  for  in 
all  other  respects  Mrs.  Gibber  showed  herself  a  woman  of 
real  good  sense.  But  at  length  an  accident,  which  might 
have  had  fatal  results,  put  an  end  to  this  madcap's  mis- 
chievous freaks.  Learning  that  a  fine  young  horse,  fit  for  a 
chaise,  was  for  sale  at  Uxbridge,  and  having  heard  her  father 
remark  that  after  his  return  from  France  he  proposed  to  add 
another  such  horse  to  his  stable,  she  rushed  over  to  Uxbridge, 
without  the  knowledge  of  her  mother,  who  happened  to  be 
lying  ill  at  the  time,  and  desired  to  have  the  animal  har- 
nessed and  put  to  for  her  inspection.  The  owner,  who  had 
often  seen  her  driving  her  father's  horses,  naturally  assumed 
that  she  had  been  duly  commissioned,  and  allowed  her  to 
set  off  with  his  horse  for  a  trial  spin  over  Uxbridge  Common. 

D 


50  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

But  the  beast  proved  to  be  totally  unmanageable,  and  after 
dragging  her  and  the  chaise  up  hill  and  down  dale  for  miles, 
at  last  set  off  at  a  terrific  pace,  which  it  was  beyond  her 
power  to  restrain,  for  home,  knocking  down  and  running 
over  a  young  child  in  the  course  of  its  mad  career.  Fortun- 
ately the  child  received  no  more  hurt  than  a  slight  graze  on 
the  neck ;  and  when  a  surgeon  had  certified  that  this  was 
all  the  damage  done,  she  was  able  to  satisfy  the  parents  with 
a  shilling  and  a  shoulder  of  mutton.  But  some  busybody, 
with  more  energy  than  brains,  rushed  off  to  Hillingdon  and 
informed  Mrs.  Gibber  that  her  daughter  had  killed  a  child ! 
The  shock  of  hearing  such  a  story,  in  her  weak  condition, 
came  near  to  killing  Mrs.  Gibber,  and  Gharlotte  was  thrown 
into  a  state  of  melancholy,  which  lasted  '  as  long  as  could  be 
expected  from  one  of  my  youth  and  volatile  spirits.' 

It  was  shortly  after  this  date  that  she  made  the  acquaint- 
of  Mr.  Richard  Gharke,  one  of  the  Drury  Lane  company, 
'  whose  memory,'  she  observes, '  will,  by  all  lovers  of  music 
who  have  heard  his  incomparable  performance  on  the  violin, 
be  held  in  great  estimation.'  Mr.  Gharke  said  soft  things, 
and  flattered  Gharlotte  into  the  belief  that  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  though  subsequent  experience  led  her  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  actuated  solely  by  pecuniary  interest, 
thinking  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  him  to  be  son-in-law  to 
Mr.  Golley  Gibber,  a  patentee  in  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  But 
she  admits  that  he  was  a  very  fascinating  young  man,  and 
that  she  thought  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  married. 
Accordingly,  after  six  months'  acquaintance,  they  were 
married  in  February  1729,  with  her  father's  full  consent; 
and  for  the  moment  she  thought,  not  only  that  the  cup  of 
her  happiness  was  full,  but  that  it  would  last  for  ever. 

'  But  alas  !  I  soon  found  myself  deceived  in  that  fond  conceit ; 
for  we  were  both  so  young  and  indiscreet  we  ought  rather  to  have 
been  sent  to  school  than  to  church,  in  regard  to  any  qualifications 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  51 

on  either  side  towards  rendering  the  marriage  state  comfortable  to 
one  another.  To  be  sure,  I  thought  it  gave  me  an  air  of  more 
consequence  to  be  called  Mrs.  Charke  than  Miss  Charlotte,  and  my 
spouse,  on  his  part,  I  believe,  thought  it  a  fine  feather  in  his  cap 
to  be  Mr.  Gibber's  son-in-law,  which  indeed  it  would  have  proved 
had  he  been  skilful  enough  to  have  managed  his  cards  rightly,  as 
my  father  was  greatly  inclined  to  be  his  friend,  and  endeavoured 
to  promote  his  interest  among  people  of  quality  and  fashion.' 

The  incontestable  merit  as  a  musical  performer,  which 
recommended  Mr.  Charke  to  Colley  Cibber,  however,  was 
quite  compatible  with  certain  incontestable  demerits  as  a 
husband  which  soon  became  patent  to  Colley  Cibber's 
daughter ;  and  she  had  to  complain  of  a  succession  of  dis- 
creditable amours.  After  the  birth  of  a  child,  matters 
became  worse  instead  of  better,  and  within  a  year  from 
their  wedding  day  they  privately  agreed  to  live  apart. 

'  When  Mr.  Charke  thought  proper,  he  paid  me  a  visit,  and  I 
received  him  with  the  same  good-natured  civility  I  might  an  old 
decayed  acquaintance  that  I  was  certain  came  to  ask  me  a  favour, 
which  was  often  the  case,  for  I  seldom  had  the  honour  of  his  com- 
pany but  when  cash  ran  low,  and  I  as  constantly  supplied  his 
wants.' 

Charlotte,  who  had  for  some  time  past  been  preparing  for 
the  stage,  made  her  first  appearance  at  Drury  Lane,  as 
Mademoiselle  in  the  Provoked  Wife,  early  in  April  1730, — 
according  to  her  account,  on  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Oldfield's 
last  appearance  before  an  audience,  but  in  reality  some  three 
weeks  before  that.  The  incomparable  Oldfield  had  given 
her  some  kindly  words  of  encouragement,  and  she  made  her 
debut  without  any  of  the  embarrassing  fear  which  usually 
attends  a  first  essay  in  the  face  of  an  audience.  Her  father 
had  cautiously  set  her  down  in  the  bills  as  '  a  young  gentle- 
woman who  had  never  appeared  on  any  stage  before,'  in 
consequence  of  which  indefinite  announcement  Miss  Char- 
lotte deemed  it  necessary  to  go  the  Avhole  round  of  her 


52  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

acquaintance  in  order  to  inform  them  who  this  young 
gentlewoman  was.  More  by  luck  than  by  judgment,  she 
made  a  fair  success  in  the  part ;  and  six  weeks  later  she  was 
chosen  to  play  for  the  combined  benefit  of  her  husband  and 
a  promising  young  actress,  Miss  Rafter,  afterwards  the 
celebrated  Mrs.  Clive.  On  this  occasion  the  announcement 
better  suited  her  vanity. 

'  My  name  was  in  capitals  on  this  second  attempt,  and  I  dare 
aver  that  the  perusal  of  it,  from  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other, 
for  the  first  week,  was  my  most  immediate  and  constant  business  : 
nor  do  I  believe  it  cost  me  less,  in  shoes  and  coaches,  than  two  or 
three  guineas  to  gratify  the  extravagant  delight  I  had,  not  only  in 
reading  the  bills,  but  sometimes  hearing  myself  spoken  of,  which, 
luckily,  was  to  my  advantage ;  nor  can  I  answer  for  the  strange 
effect  a  contrary  report  might  have  wrought  on  a  mind  so  giddily 
loaded  with  conceited  transport.' 

During  the  following  three  years,  she  played  a  number  of 
parts  at  Drury  Lane ;  and  after  her  success  as  the  original 
Lucy  in  George  Barnwell,  her  salary  was  raised  from  twenty 
to  thirty  shillings  a  week.  But  in  1733,  after  Colley  Gibber's 
retirement,  there  was  a  revolt  amongst  the  players  at  Drury 
Lane,  and  Charlotte,  together  with  her  brother  Theophilus 
and  several  others,  seceded  to  the  new  theatre  in  the  Hay- 
market,  where  she  obtained  a  very  good  share  of  parts,  and 
a  salary  of  £3  a  week.  In  March  1734  all  the  seceders 
returned  to  Drury  Lane,  when  Fleetwood  assumed  the 
managership.  But  in  1735,  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel 
with  Fleetwood,  Charlotte  took  French  leave  of  him,  and 
went  back  to  the  Haymarket.  What  the  quarrel  was  about 
is  not  on  record  ;  but  some  meddling  busybodies  fanned  the 
spark  into  a  blaze,  and  she  printed  a  farce  she  had  written, 
entitled  Tlie  Art  of  Management,  wherein  Fleetwood  was 
held  up  to  ridicule,  and  in  which  she  candidly  admits  that 
she  probably  went  too  far.     In  spite  of  this  '  impertinent  and 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  53 

stupid '  revenge,  however,  Fleetwood,  at  her  father's  request, 
restored  her  to  her  former  position  at  Drury  Lane.  But 
after  a  very  short  time  she  left  that  theatre  once  more,  this 
time  to  join  Henry  Fielding's  company  at  the  Haymarket, 
where,  she  says,  she  received  a  salary  of  four  guineas  a  week, 
and  a  benefit  by  Avhich  she  cleared  sixty  guineas.  She  does 
not  mention  the  fact,  but  about  this  time  she  appears  to 
have  produced  a  play,  entitled.  The  Carnival,  or  Harlequin 
Blunderer,  which  was  acted  at  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Theatre  in 
1735,  presumably  without  any  extraordinary  success.  In 
1737  she  was  acting  at  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Theatre ;  but  after 
that  date  her  name  disappears  from  the  play-bills,  and  she 
started  on  a  series  of  singular  adventures  which  lasted  for 
the  following  seven  years. 

While  engaged  with  Fielding's  company  at  the  Haymarket, 
she  lodged  with  a  married  sister  in  Oxenden  Street,  where, 
being,  as  she  declares,  always  treated  as  though  she  were  a 
cat  or  a  monkey,  she  was  provided  with  the  worst  apartment 
in  the  house,  which  was  not  even  weather-tight,  a  fact  of 
which  she  was  entirely  insensible  until  a  particularly  wet 
and  blustering  night  drew  her  attention  to  it  in  a  very  un- 
comfortable way.  Why  she  left  the  theatre  is  not  stated : 
we  are  only  informed  that  she  suddenly  took  it  into  her 
head  to  leave  this  '  airy  mansion '  in  Oxenden  Street,  and 
open  a  shop  as  a  grocer  and  oil- woman  in  Long  Acre.  For 
a  time  great  numbers  of  her  acquaintances  came  to  buy  of 
her,  out  of  mere  curiosity ;  but  she  made  a  very  poor  woman 
of  business ;  and  after  making  a  succession  of  losses  through 
her  blundering  and  general  ignorance  of  trade,  in  three 
months  time  she  thought  it  advisable  to  close  the  shop. 
Then  she  opened  a  puppet-show  over  the  Tennis  Court  in 
James  Street.  This  show,  she  declares,  was  generally 
allowed  to  be  the  most  elegant  thing  of  its  kind  ever 
exhibited.      She  bought    mezzotintos  of  eminent  persons 


54  COMEDY  QUEEN'S  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

from  which  to  have  her  faces  carved,  and  spared  no  ex- 
pense for  clothes  to  make  them  magnificent,  nor  for 
appropriate  scenery.  Where  the  money  came  from  is  a 
mystery;  but  we  are  informed  that  the  properties  of  this 
show  cost  her  several  hundred  pounds.  When  she  took  the 
grocery  shop,  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  secure  her  effects 
from  her  husband,  who,  in  the  absence  of  any  formal  deed 
of  separation,  would  have  been  able  to  step  in  and  take  any- 
thing she  had.  But  before  she  opened  the  puppet-show, 
Charke  appears  to  have  left  London  for  Jamaica,  where  he 
shortly  after  died.  '  Peace  to  his  manes  ! '  she  exclaims.  '  I 
hope  Heaven  has  forgiven  him,  as  I  do  from  my  soul;  and 
wish,  for  both  our  sakes,  he  had  been  master  of  more  dis- 
cretion. I  had  then  possibly  been  possessed  of  more  pru- 
dence.' When  Charke  left  England,  Mrs.  Gibber  had  been 
dead  about  a  year,  and  Charlotte  had  '  newly '  fallen  under 
her  father's  displeasure,  so  that  she  was  thrown  entirely 
on  her  own  resources.  The  puppet-show  continued  profit- 
able enough  for  a  time,  but  when  she  fell  ill  of  a  fever  it 
had  to  be  abandoned.  After  leaving  the  Tennis  Court,  she 
took  a  house  in  Marsham  Street,  Westminster,  and  lived 
'very  privately'  for  a  time.  But  it  was  necessary  to  do 
something  for  a  living,  so  one  fine  day  she  started  off  with 
her  puppets  for  Tunbridge  Wells,  with  the  notion  that  there 
would  be  a  good  harvest  to  be  reaped  there  during  the 
season.  But  on  her  arrival  she  found  the  field  in  possession 
of  a  man  named  Lacon,  who  had  entertained  the  company 
there  very  successfully  with  a  similar  show  for  several  suc- 
cessive years,  and  there  was  therefore  nothing  for  her  to  do 
but  return  to  London.  The  puppets  were  let  out  on  hire  for 
a  time,  but  not  finding  that  plan  to  answer  her  expectations, 
she  sold  the  whole  show  (which  had  cost  her  £500)  for  twenty 
guineas. 
Her  next  adventure  was  one  that  she  frequently  refers  to 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  55 

incidentally,  but  which,  for  some  reason  known  only  to  her- 
self, she  always  enveloped  in  mystery. 

'  Not  long  after  I  had  parted  from  what  might  really,  by  good 
management,  have  brought  me  in  a  very  comfortable  subsistence, 
and  in  a  genteel  light,  I  was  addressed  by  a  worthy  gentleman 
(being  then  a  widow)  and  closely  pursued  till  I  consented  to  an 
honourable  though  very  secret  alliance  ;  and,  in  compliance  to  the 
person,  bound  myself  by  all  the  vows  sincerest  friendship  could 
inspire  never  to  confess  who  he  was.  Gratitude  was  my  motive  to 
consent  to  this  conjunction,  and  extreme  foolishness  was  his  induce- 
ment to  request  it.  To  be  short — he  soon  died ;  and,  unhappily 
for  me  ...  I  was  deprived  of  every  hope  and  means  of  support.' 

Part  of  the  mystery  of  her  connection  with  this  unnamed 
person  is,  that  after  his  death  she  considered  herself  bound 
to  go  about  in  male  attire.  But  she  had  masqueraded  in 
this  fashion  for  a  very  short  time  before  she  was  arrested  for 
a  debt  of  seven  pounds,  when,  as  she  declares,  she  had  not 
the  means  of  raising  so  many  pence.  She  endeavoured  to 
get  bail ;  but  one  of  the  two  persons  who  were  induced  to 
come  forward  to  do  her  this  service  was  objected  to,  and 
there  seemed  no  prospect  before  her  but  to  end  her  days  in 
prison.  However,  after  she  had  spent  a  night  in  a  sponging- 
house  in  Jackson's  Alley,  a  number  of  '  the  ladies  who  kept 
coffee-houses  in  and  about  Covent  Garden'  (described  by 
Dibdin  as  keepers  of  houses  of  ill-fame),  came  to  express 
their  sympathy  with  '  poor  Sir  Charles,'  as  they  styled  her ; 
and  when  Mrs.  Hughes  had  laid  down  two  guineas,  and 
Mrs.  Douglas  of  the  Piazza  one  guinea,  the  rest  all  subscribed 
something,  according  to  their  means,  and  between  them 
scraped  together  enough  to  set  her  at  liberty.  She  then 
found  it  convenient  to  retire  into  '  a  most  dismal  mansion  ' 
in  Great  Queen  Street,  and  never  show  herself  out  of  doors 
except  on  a  Sunday,  when  she  sallied  forth  to  solicit  help 
from  her  friends.  Then  her  daughter  fell  ill;  and  her 
brother  Theophilus  sent  an  apothecary  to  attend  the  child, 


56  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

at  his  own  expense, '  for  which,'  she  says,  in  a  burst  of  what 
seems  rather  extravagant  gratitude  for  so  small  and  natural 
a  service,  '  I  shall  ever  acknowledge  myself  extremely  his 
debtor.'  Perhaps  she  handled  a  child  as  awkwardly  as  she 
confesses  to  have  handled  a  needle  ;  at  any  rate,  whenever  it 
fell  ill,  she  seems  to  have  behaved  like  a  frantic  idiot.  One 
Sunday  she  left  the  child  at  home  while  she  went '  to  prog 
for  her  and  myself  by  pledging  with  an  acquaintance  a 
beautiful  pair  of  sleeve-buttons ' ;  and  on  her  return,  two 
hours  later,  she  found  the  infant  in  convulsions. 

'  I  took  her  up,  and  overcome  with  strong  grief,  immediately 
dropped  her  on  the  floor,  which  I  wonder  did  not  absolutely  end 
her  by  the  force  of  the  fall.  .  .  .  My  screaming  and  her  falling 
raised  the  house ;  and  in  the  hurry  of  my  distraction  I  ran  into  the 
street  with  my  shirt-sleeves  dangling  loose  about  my  hands,  my 
wig  standing  on  end  "like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine,"  and, 
proclaiming  the  sudden  death  of  my  much  beloved  child,  a  crowd 
soon  gathered  round  me ;  and  in  the  violence  of  my  distraction, 
instead  of  administering  any  necessary  help,  wildly  stood  among 
the  mob  to  recount  the  dreadful  disaster.' 

Nobody  present  happened  to  know  her,  and  the  spectacle  of 
a  young  gentleman  exhibiting  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  child 
in  this  extravagant  fashion  caused  her  to  be  taken  for  a 
lunatic.  But  out  of  evil  came  good ;  for  the  scene  attracted 
the  notice  of  her  next-door  neighbour,  Mr.  Adam  Hallam, 
who  interested  himself  in  her  case,  and  acted  the  part  of  a 
very  good  Samaritan.  He  first  sent  her  a  letter  of  condo- 
lence, '  in  which  was  enclosed  that  necessary  and  never-failing 
remedy  for  every  evil  incidental  to  mankind  in  general'; 
and  afterwards  not  only  constantly  sent  to  inquire  after  the 
child's  progress,  but  took  care  that  the  mother  also  was  Avell 
looked  after. 

'  At  his  own  request,  his  table  was  my  own ;  and  I  am  certain 
his  good-nature  laid  an  embargo  on  his  person,  as  he  often  dined 
at  home  in  compliment  to  me,  rather  than  leave  me  to  undergo  the 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  57 

shock  of  mingling  with  his  servants,  or  be  distinguished  by  them 
as  his  pensioner  by  leaving  me  to  eat  by  myself.  It  happened  very 
apropos  for  me  that  Mr.  Hallam  had  a  back  door  into  his  house, 
which  prevented  the  hazards  I  might  otherwise  have  been  liable  to 
by  going  into  the  street ;  and,  indeed,  as  Sharp  says  to  Gaylers, 
the  back  door  I  always  thought  the  safest,  by  which  means  I  had 
a  frequent  opportunity  of  conversing  with  a  sincere  friend,  whose 
humanity  assuaged  the  anguish  of  my  mind,  and  whose  bounty 
was  compassionately  employed  for  a  considerable  time  to  protect 
me  and  mine  from  the  insupportable  and  distracting  fears  of  want.' 

Among  others  who  also  befriended  her,  she  mentions  Delane, 
the  comedian,  whose  timely  contribution  was  made  the  more 
welcome  by  the  politeness  with  which  it  was  conferred; 
Mrs.  Woflfington,  whose  merits  '  must  be  sounded  iu  a  song 
of  grateful  praise,'  and  some  more  of  the  generous  natives  of 
Ireland,  whose  virtues,  she  adds  (by  way  of  a  preliminary 
puff  to  her  next  book),  will  be  found  expatiated  upon  in  the 
History  of  Mr.  Dumont,  which  '  will  be  immediately  pub- 
lished after  the  conclusion  of  this  narrative.'  She  was  also, 
it  appears,  at  one  time  or  another  indebted  to  the  bounty  of 
Rich,  Garrick,  Lacey,  and  Beard,  in  addition  to  that  of  her 
sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Gibber,  who  often  afforded  her  relief,  and 
once  saved  her  from  gaol  by  a  timely  present.  As  soon  as 
her  child  recovered,  she  would  sometimes  leave  it  and  creep 
out  by  owl-light  '  in  search  of  adventures.'  Plays  were  at 
that  time  frequently  acted  in  the  Tennis  Court,  and  seeing 
that  almost  as  frequently  something  was  found  wanting 
among  'the  gentry  who  exhibited  at  that  celebrated 
slaughter-house  of  dramatic  poetry,'  she  occasionally  got 
a  job  there. 

'  One  night  I  remember  The  Recruiting  Officer  was  to  be  performed 
(as  they  were  pleased  to  call  it)  for  the  benefit  of  a  young  creature 
who  had  never  played  before.  To  my  unbounded  joy.  Captain 
Plume  was  so  very  unfortunate  that  he  came  at  five  o'clock  to 
inform  the  young  gentlewoman  he  did  not  know  a  line  of  his  part. 


58  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

I  (who  though  shut  up  in  the  mock  green-room)  did  not  dare  to  tell 
them  I  could  do  it,  for  fear  of  being  heard  to  speak,  and  that  the 
sound  of  my  voice,  which  is  particular,  and  as  well  known  as  my 
face,  should  betray  me  to  those  assailants  of  liberty  who  constantly 
attend  every  play-night  there,  to  the  inexpressible  terror  of  many 
a  potentate  who  has  quiveringly  tremored  out  the  hero  lest  the  sad 
catastrophe  should  rather  end  in  a  sponging-house  than  a  bowl 
of  poison  or  a  timely  dagger.  ...  At  last  the  question  was  put  to 
me.  I  immediately  replied  (seeing  the  coast  clear)  I  could  do  such 
a  thing ;  but,  like  Mosca,  was  resolved  to  stand  on  terms,  and  make 
a  merit  of  necessity.  "  To  be  sure,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "  I  'd  do  anything 
to  oblige  you ;  but  I  'm  quite  unprepared ;  I  have  nothing  here 
proper ;  I  want  a  pair  of  white  stockings  and  a  clean  shirt."  [The 
artful  schemer  confesses  that  she  had  these  requisites  in  her  coat- 
pocket  all  the  time.]  .  .  .  Then  I  urged  that  'twould  be  scarce 
worth  her  while  to  pay  me  my  price  :  upon  which  she  was  immedi- 
ately jogged  by  the  elbow  and  took  aside  to  advise  her  to  offer  me 
a  crown.  I,  being  pretty  well  used  to  the  little  arts  of  these 
worthy  wights,  received  the  proposal  soon  after;  and  without 
making  any  answer  to  it,  jogged  the  lady's  other  elbow  and 
withdrew,  assuring  her  that  under  a  guinea  I  positively  would 
not  undertake  it ;  that  to  prevent  any  demur  with  the  rest  of  the 
people  she  should  give  me  the  sixteen  shillings  privatel}?',  and 
publicly  pay  me  the  five.  Her  house  was  as  full  as  it  would  hold, 
and  the  audience  clamouring  for  a  beginning.  At  length  she  was 
obliged  to  comply  with  my  demands,  and  I  got  ready  with  the 
utmost  expedition.  When  the  play  (which  was,  in  fact,  a  farce  to 
me)  was  ended,  I  thought  it  mighty  proper  to  stay  till  the  coast 
was  clear,  that  I  might  carry  oflF  myself  and  guinea  securely  ;  but 
in  order  to  effect  it  I  changed  clothes  with  a  person  of  low  degree, 
whose  happy  rags,  and  the  kind  covert  of  night,  secured  me  from 
the  dangers  I  might  have  otherwise  encountered.  My  friend  took 
one  road,  I  another,  but  met  at  my  lodgings,  where  I  rewarded 
him,  poor  as  I  was,  with  a  shilling,  which  at  that  time  I  thought  a 
competent  fortune  for  a  younger  child.' 

A  short  time  after  this,  on  the  invitation  of  an  itinerant 
manager  named  Jockey  Adams,  she  joined  his  company  'at 
a  town  within  four  miles  of  London,'  where,  being  in  no  want 
of  clothes  notwithstanding  her  distress,  she  cut  a  very  genteel 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  59 

figure  as  '  Mr.  Brown.'  A  young  lady  of  the  neighbourhood, 
an  orphan  heiress,  with  forty  thousand  pounds  in  the  Bank 
of  England,  and  twenty  thousand  more  invested  in  the 
Indies,  fell  in  love  with  good-looking,  well-bred  Mr.  Brown ; 
and  that  young  '  gentleman '  received  a  letter  inviting  him 
to  drink  tea  with  the  lady  and  some  of  her  friends.  The 
confidential  maid  who  brought  the  invitation  took  occasion 
to  inform  the  fascinating  '  actor '  that  if  he  pleased  he 
might  bo  the  happiest  man  in  the  kingdom  before  he  was 
forty-eight  hours  older;  so  that  Charlotte  had  time  to 
make  up  her  mind  what  to  say  before  the  interview  took 
place. 

'In  obedience  to  the  lady's  command,  I  waited  on  her,  and 
found  her  with  two  more,  much  of  her  own  age,  who  were  her 
confidants,  and  entrusted  to  contrive  a  method  to  bring  this 
business  to  an  end  by  a  private  marriage.  When  I  went  into  the 
room,  I  made  a  general  bow  to  all,  and  was  for  seating  myself 
nearest  the  door,  but  was  soon  lugged  out  of  my  chair  by  a  young 
mad-cap  of  fashion,  and,  to  both  the  lady's  confusion  and  mine, 
awkwardly  seated  by  her.  We  were  exactly  in  the  condition  of 
Lord  Hardy  and  Lady  Charlotte  in  The  Funeral ;  and  I  sat  with  as 
much  fear  in  my  countenance  as  if  I  had  stole  her  watch  from  her 
side.  She,  on  her  part,  often  attempted  to  speak,  but  had  such  a 
tremor  on  her  voice,  she  ended  only  in  broken  sentences.  'Tis 
true  I  have  undergone  the  dreadful  apprehensions  of  a  bum-bailifF, 
but  I  should  have  thought  one  at  that  time  a  seasonable  relief. 
.  .  .  The  before-mentioned  mad-cap,  after  putting  us  more  out  of 
countenance  by  bursting  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughing,  took  the 
other  by  the  sleeve  and  withdrew,  as  she  thought,  to  give  me  a 
favourable  opportunity  of  paying  my  addresses;  but  she  was 
deceived,  for,  when  we  were  alone,  I  was  in  ten  thousand  times 
worse  plight  than  before ;  and  what  added  to  my  confusion  was 
seeing  the  poor  soul  dissolve  into  tears,  which  she  endeavoured  to 
conceal.' 

With  some  hesitation  and  difficulty  Charlotte  managed 
at  length  to  inform  the  love-sick  maiden  that  although  she 
bore  the  outward  semblance  of  a  man,  she  was  in  reality  a 


60  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

woman,  the  daughter  of  CoUey  Gibber  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre.  At  first  the  young  lady  took  this  for  an  ingenious 
evasion,  occasioned  by  a  dislike  to  her  person,  and  after 
repeated  assurances  appeared  to  be  only  half  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  Charlotte's  story ;  but,  true  or  not  true,  there 
was  evidently  no  help  for  her,  and  'Mr.  Brown'  was  per- 
mitted to  take  his  leave  without  further  importunity. 

Soon  after  this  adventure,  Jockey  Adams's  company  moved 
off  in  their  cart  to  another  place,  where  Charlotte  unwit- 
tingly took  a  lodging  in  the  house  of  a  bailiff.  But  as  soon 
as  she  discovered  her  landlord's  horrid  calling,  visions  of 
arrest  assailed  her,  and  she  hit  upon  the  artful  expedient  of 
going  to  her  manager  with  the  untrue  (though  likely  enough) 
intelligence  that  she  had  heard  of  a  writ  being  issued  against 
liim,  a  piece  of  information  which  so  alarmed  Mr.  Jockey 
that  he  quietly  removed  his  company  and  belongings  away 
from  the  town  that  same  night.  Thus  it  came  about  that 
they  arrived  at  their  next  stopping-place  about  six  o'clock 
one  Sunday  morning,  and  the  manager  had  to  tax  his 
ingenuity  to  find  feasible  excuses  for  the  unseasonableness 
both  of  the  hour  and  the  day.  However,  the  landlord  of 
the  inn  was  delighted  with  the  arrival  of  so  large  a  com- 
pany, possessed  of  such  a  number  of  weighty  boxes  (though 
these,  as  Charlotte  remarks,  were  chiefly  weighted  with  rusty 
old  swords  and  other  '  properties '  of  no  very  valuable  char- 
acter), and  for  the  first  week  they  lived  like  the  imaginary 
princes  and  princesses  they  so  often  represented.  But  when 
they  had  played  for  a  few  nights  without  getting  in  any 
cash  worth  speaking  of,  Boniface's  countenance  fell,  and 
the  hungry  comedians'  inquiry  what  was  for  dinner,  was 
answered  by  an  intimation  that  it  would  be  more  con- 
venient if  they  would  provision  themselves.  Seeing  such 
very  poor  prospects  with  this  company,  Charlotte  left 
Jockey   Adams    and   returned    to   London,   arriving   there 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  61 

with  a  solitary  shilling  in  her  pocket.     Within  a  couple  of 
hours  of  her  arrival  she  had  secured  a  lodging  at  a  private 
house  in  Little  Turnstile,  Holborn,  and  within  another  two 
hours,  having  heard  that  an  inquiry  had  been  made  after 
her  by  an  itinerant  manager  then  staying  at  Dartford,  she 
set  out  to  walk  to  that  town,  where  she  arrived  about  eight 
P.M.     She  played  the  same  evening,  for  such  performances 
did  not  begin  until  nine  or  ten  o'clock ;  but  her  walk  from 
London  through  a  heavy  rain  had  made  her  as  hoarse  as  a 
raven;  and   next  morning  the  manager  paid  her  off  with 
half-a-crown.     'An   excellent  demonstration,'  she  observes, 
'  of  the  humanity  of  these  low-lived  creatures,  who  have  no 
farther  regard  to  the  persons  they  employ,  but  while  they 
are  immediately  serving  'em,  and  look  upon  players  like  pack- 
horses,  though  they  live  by  'em.'     On  her  return  to  London, 
she   was   reduced  to  pledging  her  clothes  for  bread,  and 
before  she  had  recovered  her  voice  both  she  and  her  child 
were  nearly  stripped.     She  then  went  on  tour  with  a  woman 
whose  husband  (the  manager  of  the  company)  was  lying  in 
Newgate  under  sentence  of  transportation ;  and  after  playing 
at  Gravesend  for  a  month,  and  at  Harwich  for  three  weeks, 
on  the  sharing  system,  which  brought  them  in  about  a  guinea 
a  week  each,  she  was  again  back  in  London  with  nothing  to 
do.     No  other  offer  arriving  for  some  time,  it  occurred  to 
her  to  pay  a  round  of  visits  to  the  charitable  (if  otherwise 
disreputable)  '  coffee-house '  keepers  who  had  subscribed  on 
a  former  occasion  to  get  her  out  of  the  sponging-house ;  and 
by  going  to  one  at  a  time,  to  offer  thanks  for  past  favours, 
and  hint  at  present  hardships,  she  managed  to  return  from 
each  visit  with  enough  provender  for  a  day  or  two  following. 
When  she  had  exhausted  this  set  of  acquaintances,  she  paid 
a  visit  to  her  brother  Theophilus,  who  clapped  a  half-crown 
into  her  hand,  and  asked  her  to  dine  with  him  next  day  to 
meet  a  friend  of  his  who  might  possibly  be  serviceable  to 


62  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

her.     Within  three  days,  through  this  gentleman's  interest, 

she    obtained    a   situation  as  valet  to  Lord  A a,  who, 

havincT  been  unable  to  find  a  well-bred  man  who  could 
speak  French  to  serve  him  in  that  capacity,  consented  to 
try  as  valet  a  woman  masquerading  in  man's  clothes.  For 
a  short  time  she  appears  to  have  lived  in  clover. 

'  The  day  following  I  entered  into  my  new  office,  which  made 
me  the  superior  domestic  in  the  family.  I  had  my  own  table, 
with  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  any  single  dish  I  chose  for  myself, 
extra  of  what  came  from  my  Lord's,  and  a  guinea  paid  me  every 
Wednesday  morning,  that  being  the  day  of  the  week  on  which  I 
entered  into  his  lordship's  service.  At  this  time  my  Lord  kept  in 
the  house  with  him  a  filh  de  joie,  though  no  great  beauty,  yet 
infinitely  agreeable,  a  native  of  Ireland,  remarkably  genteel,  and 
finely  shaped,  and  a  sensible  woman,  whose  understanding  was 
embellished  by  a  fund  of  good  nature.  When  there  was  any 
extraordinary  company,  I  had  the  favour  of  the  lady's  company 
at  my  table ;  but  when  there  was  no  company  at  all,  his  lordship 
permitted  me  to  make  a  third  at  his,  and  very  good-naturedly 
obliged  me  to  throw  off  the  restraint  of  behaviour  incidental  to  a 
servant,  and  assume  that  of  the  humble  friend  and  cheerful  com- 
panion. Many  agreeable  evenings  I  passed  in  this  manner,  and 
when  bed-time  approached  I  took  leave  and  went  home  to  my 
own  lodgings,  attending  the  next  morning  at  nine,  the  appointed 
hour.  I  marched  every  day  through  the  streets  with  ease  and 
security,  having  his  lordship's  protection,  and  proud  to  cock  my 
hat  in  the  face  of  the  bailiffs,  and  shake  hands  with  them  into  the 
bargain.' 

This  happy  security,  however,  only  lasted  five  weeks ;  for 
two  friends, — 'supercilious  coxcombs,'  and  'pragmatical 
blockheads,'  she  calls  them — persuaded  his  lordship  to 
discharge  her,  as  keeping  a  person  of  her  sex  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  valet,  they  said,  might  endanger  his  reputation 

for  sanity.     When  the  present  with  which  Lord  A a 

mitigated  her  dismissal  was  exhausted,  she  lost  courage, 
and  fell  into  such  a  state  of  despondency  as  to  contemplate 
suicide.     But  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  her  deepest 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  63 

fits  of  gloom,  tlie  resolution  came  to  her  to  make  another 
bold  stroke  for  fortune.  She  took  a  neat  lodging  facing 
Red  Lion  Square,  and  dating  thence,  addressed  a  letter  to 
Mr.  John  Beard,  asking  him  for  a  certain  sum  of  money  to 
enable  her  to  start  a  new  scheme  for  getting  a  livelihood. 

'  My  request  was  most  obligingly  complied  with  by  that  worthy 
gentleman,  whose  bounty  enabled  me  to  set  forth  to  Newgate 
Market  and  buy  a  considerable  quantity  of  pork  at  best  hand, 
which  I  converted  into  sausages,  and,  with  my  daughter,  set  out 
laden  with  each  a  burden  as  weighty  as  we  could  well  bear,  which, 
not  having  been  used  to  luggages  of  that  nature,  we  found  ex- 
tremely troublesome ;  but  necessitas  non  habet  leges,  we  were  bound 
to  that,  or  starve.  Thank  Heaven  !  our  loads  were  like  -^sop's, 
when  he  chose  to  cany  the  bread,  to  the  astonishment  of  his 
fellow  travellers,  not  considering  that  his  wisdom  preferred  it 
because  he  was  sure  it  would  lighten  as  it  went ;  so  did  ours,  for 
as  I  went  only  where  I  was  known,  I  soon  disposed,  among  my 
friends,  of  my  whole  cargo.' 

She  managed  to  subsist  for  some  time  as  a  '  higgler '  in 
this  line ;  but,  curiously  enough,  she  waxes  highly  indignant 
at  the  libellous  people  who  spread  reports  about  her  dealing 
in  other  articles  than  sausages.  The  report  that  she  carried 
a  long  pole  about  the  streets  every  day,  hawking  rabbits, 
had  no  other  foundation  than  the  fact  that  somebody  hap- 
pened to  see  her  one  day  during  the  period  of  her  service 

with  Lord  A a,  carrying  a  hare  to  his  lordship's  house. 

Why,  when  she  seems  quite  proud  of  having  sold  sausages, 
she  should  repudiate  with  so  much  indignation  a  report 
that  she  dealt  in  fish,  is  not  very  intelligible ;  though  she 
would  certainly  have  had  our  sympathy  if  she  had  once 
more  brought  her  oaken  cudgel  into  play  for  the  benefit  of 
the  'wicked  forger'  who  related  that  one  day  her  father 
happened  to  pass  by  when  she  was  selling  flounders,  and 
that  she  took  the  largest  of  them  out  of  her  basket  and 
slapped  it  full  in  his  face.     The  sausage  business  appears  to 


64  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

have  come  to  an  end  in  consequence  of  an  illness  she  had, 
for  some  time  after  which,  aided  by  an  occasional  guinea 

from  her  former  master,  Lord   A a,  Charlotte  and  her 

child  were  supported  by  a  charitable  young  woman  not 
much  richer  than  herself.  Then  she  obtained  a  situation  as 
waiter  at  the  King's  Head  in  Marylebone ;  but  after  a  short 
time  was  obliged  to  reveal  her  sex  and  leave  the  place 
because  the  mistress's  sister  had  fallen  in  love  with  her. 
An  occasional  turn  at  the  new  Wells  or  at  Bartholomew 
Fair  being  all  that  offered  after  this,  she  determined  to 
make  another  attempt  in  a  fresh  line  of  business.  She 
wrote  to  her  mother's  brother,  John  Shore,  imploring  him, 
for  the  sake  of  his  dear  departed  sister,  to  furnish  her  with 
enough  money  to  open  a  public-house.  Strange  to  say, 
Shore  at  once  replied  that  if  she  would  find  a  suitable 
house  he  would  willingly  find  the  money ;  whereupon,  with 
her  usual  inconsiderateness,  she  promptly  took  the  very 
first  one  she  could  find  to  let,  which,  unfortunately  for  her, 
happened  to  be  a  house  in  Drury  Lane  which  had  been 
'most  irregularly  and  indecently  kept  by  the  last  incum- 
bent.' As  soon  as  her  uncle  gave  her  the  money  she  asked 
for,  her  first  proceeding  was  to  pay  off  her  creditors ;  and  it 
is  curious  to  find  that  the  whole  amount  due  to  those  who 
for  some  years  past  had  kept  her  in  fear  of  having  to  pass 
the  remainder  of  her  days  in  prison  did  not  amount  to  more 
than  £25.  But  the  public-house  turned  out  no  more  suc- 
cessfully than  any  of  her  other  speculations.  At  the  out- 
set she  wasted  a  good  deal  of  her  small  capital  in  buying 
useless  furniture,  and  in  giving  away  ham,  beef,  or  veal  to 
every  person  who  on  the  opening  day  called  for  a  quart  of 
beer  or  a  glass  of  brandy.  Then  she  gave  credit  to  a  number 
of  strolling  players  out  of  work,  who,  when  they  got  some- 
thing to  do,  forgot  to  pay  her,  and  were  far  away  out  of  her 
reach.     And   finally  she   let   her  upstairs   rooms   to   three 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  65 

separate  sets  of  scoundrels,  who  systematically  robbed  her. 
Consequently,  after  a  very  short  tenure  of  the  place,  she 
saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  clear  out  her  furniture,  and  leave 
house  and  lodsfers  to  take  care  of  themselves.     In  1743  her 
farce,  Tit  for  Tat,  or  Comedy  and  Tragedy  at  War,  was 
acted  at  Punch's  Theatre,  apparently  without  bringing  her 
much,  either  in  the  way  of  distinction  or  emolument.     In 
1744    she   went    to    the   Haymarket,   where    her    brother 
Theophilus  had   brought   out    Romeo  and  Juliet.     For  a 
short   period   she    lived  with   him  very  comfortably;    but 
when  he  was  forced  to  retire  from  the  theatre  by  order  of 
the  Lord  Chamberlain,  her  attempt  to  carry  on  the  concern 
without  him  ignominiously  failed.     After  that,  she  took  a 
notion  of  supporting  herself  by  her  pen,  but,  as  she  explains, 
'  my  cares  increasing  I  had  not  time  to  settle  myself  pro- 
perly or  collect  my  mind  for  such  an  undertaking,'  and  was 
therefore  obliged  to  '  trust  to  Providence  from  time  to  time 
for  what  I  could  get  by  occasional  acting.'     Though  unfor- 
tunate  in   the   main,   she   informs   us,   something  usually 
turned  up  about  once  in  every  five  or  six  weeks  to  cheer  her 
drooping  spirits.     And  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  she  did  not 
entirely  rely  upon  the  occasional  acting,  for  we  hear  of  the 
Duke   of  Montagu,  who  was   '  a   universal   physician   and 
restorer  of  peace  and  comfort  to  afflicted  minds,'  sending 
her  a  donation  of  several  guineas,  in  response,  presumably, 
to  an  application  for  help.     After  obtaining  an  engagement 
at '  a  guinea  a  day '(!)  to  work  the  Punch  at  Russell's  puppet 
Italian  Opera,  which   speedily  came  to  an  end  in   conse- 
quence  of  poor   Russell's   arrest  for  debt  and   subsequent 
death,  she  gained  a  poor  subsistence  for  a  time  in  London 
by  playing  at  Bartholomew  and  May  Fairs ;  and  then  went 
into   the    country   for  another   period   of  strolling.     After 
travelling  about  for  a  year  or  two  with  various  companies, 
sometimes  half-starved,   and   once,  with   the   rest  of  lier 

E 


6Q    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

companions,  clapped  into  jail  as  a  rogue  and  a  vagabond, 
she   made   up   her   mind   to    abandon    playing   altogether. 
She  borrowed  some  money  (how,  or  of  whom,  we  are  not 
informed),  took  a  handsome  house,  with  a  large  garden  of 
three-quarters  of  an  acre,  at  Chepstow,  and  decided  to  turn 
pastrycook.     On  the  first  day  of  business  she  took  twenty 
shillings;  but  as  soon  as  the  curiosity  she  had  raised  was 
satisfied,  trade   declined.     She   then   proposed   to  make   a 
little  money  by  selling  the  fruit  from  her  garden ;  but  some 
nefarious  rascals  quietly  picked  and  carried  it  all  off  one 
night  as  soon  as  it  was  ripe.     It  therefore  became  desirable 
to  move  on  to  some  other  place ;  and  having  pitched  upon  a 
small  harbour  town  five  miles  from  Bristol,  she  took  a  little 
shop,  stuck  up  a  board  bearing  the  legend — '  Brown,  Pastry- 
cook, from  London,'  and  during  the  summer  months  did  a 
fair  trade.     But  in  the  winter  there  was  no  business  to  be 
done  at  all ;  so  she  abandoned  her  shop,  took  a  lodging  in 
Bristol  at  two  shillings  a  w^eek,  wrote  a  short  tale  for  the 
Bristol  paper,  and  was  engaged  by  the  printer  thereof,  at  a 
small  weekly  pittance,  to  correct  the  press.     Following  this 
came  an  engagement  with  Simpson  to  act  as  prompter  at 
the  Bath  theatre ;  an  arduous  post,  she   says,   which   she 
endured   from   September   till  March,  but  was  then  com- 
pelled to  relinquish  from  excessive  fatigue.      During   this 
season  at  Bath,  apparently,  she  abandoned  the  male  attire 
which  she  had  worn  for  so   many  years,  and  once    more 
dressed  as  a  woman.     All  the  explanation  she  offers  of  this 
curious  freak  of  hers  is  as  follows  : — 

'  My  being  in  breeches  was  alleged  to  me  as  a  very  great  error ; 
but  the  original  motive  proceeded  from  a  particular  cause ;  and  I 
rather  choose  to  undergo  the  worst  imputation  that  can  be  laid  on 
me  on  that  account  than  unravel  the  secret,  which  is  an  appendix 
to  one  I  am  bound,  as  I  before  hinted,  b}^  all  the  vows  of  truth 
and  honour  everlastingly  to  conceal' 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  67 

She  incidentally  mentions  at  this  part  of  her  narrative 
that  her  daughter  had  imprudently  married  a  strolling 
player  three  years  previously :  and  now,  after  giving  up  her 
situation  at  Bath,  she  travelled  for  a  short  time  with  the 
company  her  daughter  belonged  to,  although  her  son-in-law 
treated  her  '  impertinently,'  and  she  was  not  otherwise 
comfortable.  Strolling  companies,  she  informs  us,  were  not 
only  filled  with  barbers'  'prentices,  tailors,  and  footmen 
out  of  place,  who  were  all  despicable  actors,  but — 

'going  a-strolling  is  engaging  in  a  little  dirty  kind  of  war,  in 
which  I  have  been  obliged  to  fight  so  many  battles,  I  have 
resolutely  determined  to  throw  away  my  commission :  and,  to  say 
truth,  I  am  not  only  sick,  but  heartily  ashamed  of  it,  as  I  have 
had  nine  years'  experience  of  its  being  a  very  contemptible  life ; 
rendered  so  through  the  impudent  and  ignorant  behaviour  of 
those  who  pursue  it ;  and  I  think  it  would  be  more  reputable  to 
earn  a  groat  a  day  in  sinder-sifting  at  Tottenham  Court  than  to  be 
concerned  with  them.' 

Consequently  about  Christmas  time  1754,  she  once  more 
made  her  way  to  London,  and  determined  henceforth  to 
support  herself  by  her  pen.  At  the  time  of  writing,  she  has 
a  novel  on  the  stocks  (to  which  she  thus  gives  a  pufi 
preliminary);  she  proposes  to  have  a  benefit  once  a  year ; 
and  she  takes  this  opportunity  to  advertise  another  project 
which  promises  to  bring  further  grist  to  the  mill. 

'  As  I  am  foolishly  flattered,  from  the  opinion  of  others,  into  a 
belief  of  the  power  of  cultivating  raw  and  inexperienced  geniuses, 
I  design  very  shortly  to  endeavour  to  instruct  those  persons  who 
conceive  themselves  capable  of  dramatic  performances,  and  pro- 
pose to  make  the  stage  their  livelihood.' 

In  short,  she  intends  to  hold  classes,  on  reasonable  terms, 
three  times  a  week,  from  10  a.m.  to  8  p.m.,  where  ladies  and 
gentlemen  may  be  instructed  in  the  arts  of  elocution  and  of 
acting.     Whether  she  ever  opened   such   an   academy,   or 


68  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

whether  she  ever  had  an  annual  benefit,  we  do  not  know ; 
but  in  some  way  or  other  she  managed  to  prolong  her 
scarcely  enjoyable  existence  for  another  five  years. 

Charlotte  appears  to  have  had  no  intercourse  with  her 
father  for  something  like  twenty  years.  In  view  of  her 
notorious  eccentricities,  it  is  not  surprising  that  highly 
absurd  stories  about  her  became  current,  and  that  she  was 
reported  to  have  flouted  her  father  on  various  occasions. 
But  she  protests  most  emphatically  that  all  such  stories 
were  malicious  lies.  The  worst  of  them  all  was  the  inven- 
tion of  a  beggarly  fellow  who  had  been  occasionall}^  a 
supernumerary  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  and  who  was  com- 
pelled, she  tells  us,  to  apologise  on  his  loiees  for  this  piece 
of  wanton  cruelty.  He  related  a  circumstantial  story  to 
the  effect  that  she  had  hired  a  fine  bay  gelding,  borrowed  a 
pair  of  pistols,  stopped  her  father  in  Epping  Forest,  pre- 
sented a  pistol  at  his  breast,  threatened  to  blow  out  his 
brains  if  he  did  not  stand  and  deliver,  and  then  upbraided 
him  for  his  cruelty  in  abandoning  her  to  poverty  and 
distress.  The  story  went  on  to  declare  that  Colley  Gibber 
then  wept,  asked  his  daughter's  pardon  for  his  ill-usage  of 
her,  presented  her  there  and  then  with  his  purse  containing 
threescore  guineas,  and  promised  to  restore  her  to  his 
family  and  his  love;  whereupon  the  female  highwa3^man 
thanked  him  and  rode  away.  A  likely  story !  she  exclaims, 
that  her  father  and  his  servants  would  be  all  so  intimidated 
by  a  single  highwayman,  and  that  a  female,  and  his  own 
daughter  into  the  bargain. 

'  However,  the  story  soon  reached  my  ears,  which  did  not  more 
enrage  me  on  my  own  account  than  the  impudent  ridiculous 
picture  the  scoundrel  had  drawn  of  my  father  in  this  horrid 
scene.  The  rascal  threw  me  into  such  an  agonising  rage,  I  did 
not  recover  it  for  a  month  ;  but  the  next  evening  I  had  the  satis- 
faction of  being  designedly  placed  where  this  villain  was  to  be, 
and  concealed  behind  a  screen,   heard  the  lie  re-told  from   his 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  69 

own  mouth.  He  had  no  sooner  ended  than  I  rushed  from  my 
covert,  and,  being  armed  with  a  thick  oaken  plant,  knocked  him 
down  without  speaking  a  word  to  him ;  and  had  I  not  been 
happily  prevented,  should,  without  the  least  remorse,  have  killed 
him  on  the  spot.' 

Charlotte's  estrangement  from  her  father  was  well  enough 
known ;  and  it  seems  to  have  been  generally  thought  that 
her  offence  must  have  been  of  a  very  heinous  character  to 
have  permanently  alienated  the  affections  of  a  fond  parent, 
who  was  noted  for  his  benevolence  and  humanity.  Accord- 
ing to  her  own  account,  she  had  been  guilty  of  nothing 
worse  than  3^outhful  'follies'  and  'indiscretions'  (unspecified, 
however),  of  a  not  unpardonable  character ;  and  from  time 
to  time  she  sought  for  a  reconciliation ;  but  in  vain.  In 
the  first  number  of  her  (serially  published)  autobiography 
she  lamented  that,  partly  through  her  own  indiscretion,  and 
partly  from  the  cruel  censure  of  false  and  evil  tongues,  she 
had  lost  the  blessing  of  a  father's  love;  and  went  on  to 
declare  that  '  if  strongest  compunction,  and  uninterrupted 
hours  of  anguish,  blended  with  self-conviction  and  filial 
love,  can  move  his  heart  to  pity  and  forgiveness,  I  shall 
with  pride  and  unutterable  transport  throw  myself  at  his 
feet  to  implore  the  only  benefit  I  expect,  his  blessing  and 
his  pardon.'     She  also  wrote  him  the  following  letter : — 

'  To  CoLLEY  Gibber,  Esquire,  at  his  house  in 
Berkeley  Square, 

'Saturday,  March  8,  1755 

'  Honoured  Sir, — I  doubt  not  you  are  sensible  I  last  Saturday 
published  the  first  number  of  a  Narrative  of  my  Life,  in  which  I 
make  a  proper  concession  in  regard  to  those  unhappy  miscarriages 
which  have  for  many  years  deprived  me  of  a  father's  fondness. 
As  I  am  conscious  of  my  errors,  I  thought  I  could  not  be  too 
public  in  sueing  for  your  blessing  and  pardon  ;  and  only  blush  to 
think  my  youthful  follies  should  draw  so  strong  a  compunction  on 


70  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

my  mind  in  the  meridian  of  my  days,  which  I  might  so  easily 
have  avoided.  Be  assured,  Sir,  I  am  perfectly  convinced  I  was 
more  than  much  to  blame ;  and  that  the  hours  of  anguish  I  have 
felt  have  bitterly  repaid  me  for  the  commission  of  every  indiscre- 
tion, which  was  the  unhappy  motive  of  being  so  many  years 
estranged  from  that  happiness  I  now,  as  in  duty  bound,  most 
earnestly  implore.  I  shall,  with  your  permission.  Sir,  send  again, 
to  know  if  I  may  be  admitted  to  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  and, 
with  sincere  and  filial  transport,  endeavour  to  convince  you  that — 
I  am,  honoured  Sir,  Your  truly  penitent  and  dutiful  daughter, 

'Charlotte  Charke.' 

She  appears  to  have  flattered  herself  that  having  made 
what  she  called  a  public  confession  of  her  faults  would  lead 
to  a  reconciliation  with  her  father,  who  was  now  eighty- 
four  years  of  age.  But  the  old  man  was  inexorable,  and 
Charlotte's  letter  Avas  returned  to  her  in  a  blank  envelope. 
She  therefore  printed  it  in  a  later  number  of  her  Narrative, 
presumably  to  show  the  public  what  a  dutiful  and  penitent 
letter  it  was.  But  at  the  time,  the  shock  of  having  it 
returned  to  her  in  such  a  manner  made  her  very  ill,  not, 
she  is  careful  to  explain,  rousing  her  to  any  sudden  gust  of 
passion,  but  preying  upon  her  heart '  with  a  slow  and  eating 
fire  of  distraction,'  which  ended  in  a  fever.  When  able  to 
resume  her  Narrative,  she  printed  her  rather  copy-book- 
like letter,  and  followed  it  up  by  a  dissertation  on  the  duty 
of  forgiveness  (especially  on  the  part  of  fathers)  character- 
istically backed  up  by  quotations,  not  from  Holy  Scripture, 
but  from  the  play  of  George  Barnwell.  She  attributes  her 
father's  persistent  hardness  of  heart  to  the  influence  of  her 
eldest  sister,  who, '  though  within  a  year  of  threescore,  pur- 
sues her  own  interest,  to  the  detriment  of  others,  with  the 
same  artful  vigilance  that  might  be  expected  from  a  young 
sharper  of  twenty-four.'  Then  follows  another  characteristic 
passage  in  which  she  expresses  her  very  queer  conception 
of  Christian  forgiveness : — 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  71 

'One  thing  I  must  insert  for  her  mortification,  that  my  con- 
science is  quite  serene ;  and  though  she  won't  suffer  my  father  to 
be  in  friendship  with  me,  I  am  perfectly  assured  that  I  have,  in 
regard  to  any  offences  towards  him,  made  my  peace  with  the 
Power  Supreme,  which  neither  her  falsehood  nor  artful  malice 
could  deprive  me  of.  'Tis  now  my  turn  to  forgive,  as  being  the 
injured  party ;  and  to  show  her  how  much  I  choose  to  become  her 
superior  in  mind,  I  not  only  pardon,  but  pity  her.' 

Whether  she  made  any  further  overtures  is  not  knoAvn ; 
but  two  years  later  CoUey  Gibber  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers,  and  all  hopes  of  a  reconciliation  Avere  at  an 
end. 

The  last  glimpse  that  we  get  of  poor  Charlotte  Charke  is 
in  an  account  of  a  visit  paid  to  her  squalid  habitation,  soon 
after  the  publication  of  her  Memoirs,  by  a  publisher  and  his 
friend,  who  went  to  make  a  bargain  with  her  for  her  story 
of  Henry  Dumont.  The  friend,  some  time  afterwards,  thus 
describes  the  scene  in  a  contribution  to  the  Monthly 
Magazine : — 

'Her  habitation  was  a  wretched  thatched  hovel,  situate  on  the 
way  to  Islington,  not  very  distant  from  the  New  River  Head, 
where  it  was  usual  at  that  time  for  the  scavengers  to  deposit  the 
sweepings  of  the  streets.  The  night  preceding  a  heavy  rain  had 
fallen,  which  rendered  this  extraordinary  seat  of  the  Muses  nearly 
inaccessible.  .  .  .  We  did  not  attempt  to  pull  the  latch-string, 
but  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a  tall,  meagre, 
ragged  figure,  with  a  blue  apron,  indicating,  what  otherwise  was 
doubtful,  that  it  was  a  female  before  us.  .  .  .  The  first  object  that 
presented  itself  was  a  dresser,  clean,  it  must  be  confessed,  and 
furnished  with  three  or  four  coarse  delft  plates,  and  underneath 
an  earthen  pipkin,  and  a  black  pitcher  with  a  snip  out  of  it.  To 
the  right  we  perceived,  and  bowed  to,  the  mistress  of  the  mansion, 
sitting  on  a  maimed  chair,  under  the  mantel-piece,  by  a  fire  merely 
sufficient  to  put  us  in  mind  of  starving.  On  one  hob  sat  a 
monkey,  which,  by  way  of  welcome,  chattered  at  our  going  in ;  on 
the  other  a  tabby  cat  of  melancholy  aspect ;  and  at  our  author's 
feet,  on  the  flounce  of  her  dingy  petticoat,  reclined  a  dog,  almost 


72  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

a  skeleton  !  He  raised  his  shaggy  head,  and  eagerly  staring  with 
his  bleared  eyes,  saluted  us  with  a  snarl.  "  Have  done,  Fidele ! 
these  are  friends."  The  tone  of  her  voice  had  something  in  it 
humbled  and  disconsolate,  a  mingled  effort  of  authority  and 
pleasure.  Poor  soul !  few  were  her  visitors  of  that  description ; 
no  wonder  the  creature  barked.  A  magpie  perched  on  the 
top  rung  of  her  chair,  not  an  uncomely  ornament!  and  on  her 
lap  was  placed  a  mutilated  pair  of  bellows :  the  pipe  was  gone, 
an  advantage  in  their  present  office;  they  served  as  a  succeda- 
neum  for  a  writing-desk,  on  which  lay  displayed  her  hopes  and 
treasure,  the  manuscript  of  her  novel.  Her  inkstand  was  a  broken 
tea-cup ;  the  pen  worn  to  a  stump :  she  had  but  one  !  A  rough 
deal  board,  with  three  hobbling  supporters,  was  brought  for  our 
convenience,  on  which,  without  further  ceremony,  we  contrived  to 
sit  down,  and  enter  into  business.  The  work  was  read,  remarks 
made,  alterations  suggested  and  agreed  to,  and  thirty  guineas 
demanded  for  the  copy.  The  squalid  housemaid,  who  had  been 
an  attentive  listener,  stretched  forth  her  tawny  neck  with  an  eye 
of  anxious  expectation.  The  bookseller  offered  five  guineas.  Our 
authoress  did  not  appear  hurt ;  disappointment  had  rendered  her 
mind  callous :  however  some  altercation  ensued.  The  visitor, 
seeing  both  sides  pertinacious,  interposed,  and  at  his  instance,  the 
wary  haberdasher  of  literature  doubled  his  first  proposal ;  with 
this  saving  proviso,  that  his  friend  present  would  pay  a  moiety 
and  run  one  half  the  risk,  which  was  agreed  to.  Thus  matters 
were  accommodated,  seemingly  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties ; 
the  lady's  original  stipulation  of  fifty  copies  for  herself  being 
previously  acceded  to.' 

Nothing  is  known  of  the  remaining  four  or  five  years  of 
this  miserable  woman's  life.  Her  History  of  Henry  Dumovt 
duly  appeared  in  1756  ;  and  another  story  of  hers,  entitled 
The  Lovers  Treat  or  Unnatural  Hatred  was  published  1758. 
It  seems  highly  improbable  that  her  literary  labours  can 
have  brought  in  sufficient  for  her  maintenance ;  and  we  can 
only  presume  that  she  was  aided  by  the  bounty  of  the 
compassionate,  or  that  she  was  compelled  to  apply  for 
parish  relief  She  died  on  the  6th  of  April,  1760,  aged 
about  fifty  years. 


CHARLOTTE  CHARKE  73 

The  title-page  of  Charlotte's  autobiography  bears  the 
following  apt  quotation  from  the  prologue  to  The  What 
d  'ye  call  It, — 

*  This  Tragic  Story,  or  this  Comic  Jest, 
May  make  you  laugh,  or  cry — as  you  like  best.' 

It  may  perhaps  do  both.  The  eccentricity  of  her  character, 
and  the  lively  narration  of  her  singular  adventures,  cannot 
fail  to  raise  many  a  laugh ;  while  the  spectacle  of  a  young 
lady  of  respectable  birth,  brought  up  in  affluence,  well- 
educated  according  to  the  notions  of  her  day,  and  possessed 
of  considerable  natural  talent,  Avho  was,  to  use  her  own 
words,  such  an  '  unfortunate  devil,'  that  the  greater  part  of 
her  life  was  spent  in  squalor  and  misery,  may,  at  any  rate 
'  claim  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh.' 


CATHERINE  CLIVE 

The  career  of  Catherine,  or  Kitty,  Clive,  as  she  was  famiharly 
called,  differs  in  many  important  points  from  that  of  most 
actresses  of  the  Georgian  period.  In  her  case,  there  was  no 
early  strolling,  with  its  attendant  squalor  and  contamination, 
no  tedious  and  unremunerative  apprenticeship  in  the  pro- 
vincial theatres.  She  made  her  first  appearance  at  Drury 
Lane  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  Avas  an  instantaneous  success, 
held  the  stage,  with  increasing  power  and  popularity,  for 
forty  years,  and  remained  to  the  day  of  her  retirement  the 
spoiled  darling  of  the  public.  Moreover,  notwithstanding 
her  separation  from  her  husband,  she  indulged  in  no  ama- 
tory '  adventures,'  was  untouched  by  the  breath  of  scandal, 
and  associated  on  terms  of  equality,  both  while  on  the  stage 
and  afterwards,  with  some  of  the  most  distinguished  persons 
in  the  fashionable  society  of  her  day  ;  to  whom  her  conver- 
sational powers,  her  lively  wit,  and  the  even  more  lively 
ebullitions  of  her  choleric  temperament,  proved  a  perpetual 
source  of  entertainment. 

She  was  born  in  London  in  1711,  and  was  one  of  the 
numerous  family  of  William  Raftor,  an  Irish  gentleman  of 
good  family  and  forfeited  estates,  who  had  married  the 
daughter  of  a  citizen  of  London,  and  settled  down  in  what 
was  then  perhaps  the  salubrious  neighbourhood  of  Fish 
Street  Hill.  Mr.  Raftor  is  said  to  have  received  a  hand- 
some fortune  with  his  wife;  but  this  is  scarcely  credible 
when  we  learn  that  by  the  time  Kitty  was  twenty-three  he 
was  entirely  dependent  on  her  for  his  support.     At  any  rate, 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  75 

his  daughter  received  only  the  scantiest  education ;  and,  if 
we  may  beHeve  a  story  told  in  the  Memioirs  of  Lee  Lewes, 
she  was  in  her  early  days  a  domestic  servant.  Lewes  says 
he  was  told  by  a  Mr.  Thomas  Young  that  when  his  mother, 
in  her  maiden  days,  lodged  with  a  fan-painter  named  Snell, 
in  Church  Row,  Houndsditch,  Kitty  Raftor  was  her  servant. 
Immediately  opposite  this  house,  the  story  goes  on,  was  the 
Bull  tavern,  then  kept  by  Watson,  many  years  box-keeper 
at  Drury  Lane,  and  at  this  tavern  were  held  the  meetings 
of  the  famous  Beef-steak  Club.  One  day  Kitty  Raftor 
happened  to  be  singing  as  she  washed  the  door  steps,  and 
the  open  windows  of  the  club-room  opposite  soon  became 
crowded  by  an  appreciative  audience,  all  of  whom  were 
enchanted  with  the  young  singer's  artless  grace,  and  two 
of  whom.  Beard  and  Dunstall,  interested  themselves  to  get 
her  an  introduction  to  the  theatre.  But  inaccuracy  is  the 
badge  of  all  the  tribe  of  theatrical  memoir  writers  ;  and  the 
reader  may  take  his  choice  between  this  account  and  the 
equally  circumstantial,  but  totally  irreconcileable  one,  given 
by  Chetwood  in  his  General  History  of  the  Stage.  Chet- 
wood  (who  was  prompter  at  Drury  Lane,  and  knew  Mrs. 
Clive  intimately)  informs  us  that  she  had  an  early  genius 
for  the  stage,  and  had  told  him  that  when  she  was  about 
twelve  years  old  she  and  Miss  Johnson  (afterwards  the  first 
wife  of  Theophilus  Cibber)  used  to  '  tag '  after  the  celebrated 
Mr.  Wilkes  whenever  they  saw  him  in  the  street,  and  gaze  at 
him  as  a  wonder. 

'Miss  Raftor  had  a  facetious  Turn  of  Humour,  and  infinite 
Spirits,  with  a  Voice  and  Manner  in  singing  Songs  of  Pleasantry 
peculiar  to  herself.  Those  Talents  Mr  Theo.  Cibber  and  I  (we  all 
at  that  Time  living  together  in  one  House)  thought  a  sufficient 
passport  for  the  Theatre.  We  recommended  her  to  the  Laureat, 
whose  infallible  Judgment  soon  found  out  her  Excellencies ;  and 
the  Moment  he  heard  hei-  sing,  put  her  down  in  the  List  of  Per- 
formers at  twenty  Shillings  per  Week.     But  never  any  Person  of 


76  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

her  Age  flew  to  Perfection  with  such  Rapidity.  .  .  .  Her  first 
Appearance  was  in  the  Play  of  Mithridates  King  of  Pontus,  in 
Ismenes,  the  Page  to  Ziphanes,  in  Boy's  Cloaths,  where  a  Song 
proper  to  the  Circumstances  of  the  Scene  was  introduced,  which 
she  performed  with  extraordinary  Applause.  But  after  this,  like 
a  Bullet  in  the  Air,  there  was  no  distinguishing  the  Track,  till  it 
came  to  its  utmost  Execution.' 

Chetwood  goes  on  to  relate  in  his  quaint  manner  that  lie 
well  remembered  her  appearance  in  the  part  of  Phillida  in 
Gibber's  Love  in  a  Riddle,  an  opera  which  the  laureate  had 
written  in  the  manner  of  the  astoundingly  popular  Beggars 
Opera,  with  the  object  of  recommending  virtue  and  inno- 
cence instead  of  vice  and  roguery,  but  which  Gibbers 
numerous  enemies  had  conspired  to  damn.  The  house 
was  in  an  uproar  from  the  commencement ;  but  when  Miss 
Raftor  came  on,  says  the  prompter,  the  tumult  subsided, 
and  he  heard  a  person  in  the  stage-box  close  to  him  call  out 
to  a  fellow  conspirator — '  Zounds,  Tom  !  take  care,  or  this 
charming  little  devil  will  save  all.'  In  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography,  Sir  Theodore  Martin  tells  us  that  she 
did  save  the  piece  ;  but  this  is  a  mistake.  Love  in  a  Riddle, 
as  Gibber  himself  candidly  admits  in  his  Apology,  was  '  as 
vilely  damned  and  hooted  at  as  so  vain  a  presumption  in 
the  idle  cause  of  virtue  could  deserve.'  But  Kitty  scored 
a  success  for  herself ;  and  ibllowed  it  up  so  well  that,  within 
two  years  of  her  first  appearance,  her  performance  of  Nell 
in  The  Devil  to  Fay  established  her  reputation  once  for  all 
as  the  greatest  comic  actress  of  her  time. 

In  1752,  when  twenty-one  years  of  age,  she  married  ; 
making  what  on  the  face  of  it  appeared  to  be  a  very  good 
match  with  George  Glive,  a  barrister  who  was  brother  to  one 
judge  and  nephew  to  another.  Two  years  later,  Henry 
Fielding,  in  dedicating  to  her  his  farce  of  The  Intriguing 
Chatiibermaid,  took  occasion  to  remark  : — 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  77 

*I  shall  not  here  dwell  on  anything  so  well-known  as  your 
theatrical  merit.  .  .  .  But  as  great  a  favourite  as  you  are  with  the 
audience,  you  would  be  much  more  so  were  they  acquainted  with 
your  private  character ;  could  they  see  you  laying  out  great  part 
of  the  profits  which  arise  to  you  from  entertaining  them  so  well, 
in  the  support  of  an  aged  father ;  did  they  see  you  who  can  charm 
them  on  the  stage  with  personating  the  foolish  and  vicious  charac- 
ters of  your  sex,  acting  in  real  life  the  part  of  the  best  wife,  the 
best  daughter,  and  the  best  friend.' 

A  good  daughter,  sister,  and  friend,  she  continued  to  be ; 
but  her  conjugal  bliss  was  of  short  duration ;  and  shortly- 
after  this,  though  precisely  at  what  date  cannot  be  ascer- 
tained,  she    and    Clive    separated    by    mutual    consent — 
apparently   for    no    other    cause    than    incompatibility    of 
temper.     Clive,  who,  according  to  all  accounts,  says  John 
Taylor,  was  a  very  learned  and  intelligent  man,  but  without 
practice  in  his  profession,  became  domestic  companion  to  a 
gentleman  of  fortune  named  Ince,  who  was  reputed  to  be 
'  the  Templar '  of  the  Spectator  club ;  and  although  Kitty 
occasionally  heard  of  him  during  the  remaining  half-century 
of  his  existence,  she  does  not  appear  to  have  heard  from 
him,  or  to  have  ever  seen  him  again.      One  can  readily 
understand  that  a  dull  and  decorous  man  like  Clive  would 
find  Kitty  no  easy  person  to  live  with  in  private,  as  actors 
and  managers  found  her  no  very  easy  person  to  get  on 
with   in   pubHc  life.      In   1736,  for   example,  Mrs.   Cibber 
wished  to  take  the  part  of  Polly  in  The  Beggar's  Opera,  a 
part  at  that  time  in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Clive.     As  Victor 
said,  Mrs.  Cibber,  who  was  young  and  handsome,  as  well  as 
a  good  singer,  had  every  natural  and  acquired  requisite  to 
make  the  best  Polly  that  had  ever  appeared,  while  Mrs, 
Clive,  who  was  by  no  means  so  well  suited  for  the  part  of 
Polly,  would  have  made  an  incomparable  Lucy.      But  the 
idea  of  giving  up  one  of  her  principal  parts  was  intolerable ; 


78  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

the  hot-tempered  Kitty  lodged  her  complaint,  and  raised  a 

storm;  and,  as  Mrs.  Gibber  was  comparatively  new  to  the 

stage,  she  was  compelled  to  abandon  her  claim.    The  quarrel 

caused  a  great  hubbub  amongst  playgoers.    Woodward  seized 

the  opportunity  to  bring  out  a  little  farce  on  the  subject, 

entitled  :   '  The   Beggar's   Pantomime ;    or   the   Contending 

Columbines ' ;    and    another    wit    produced    the    following 

parody  on  the  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase  : — 

'  Heaven  prosper  long  our  noble  King, 
Our  lives,  and  save  us  all ; 
A  woeful  quarrel  lately  did 
In  Drury  Lane  befaU. 

To  charm  the  pit  with  speech  and  song 

Dame  Gibber  took  her  way  : 
Players  may  rue  who  are  unborn 

The  quarrel  of  that  day. 

Gibber,  the  syren  of  the  stage, 

A  vow  to  Heaven  did  make. 
Full  twenty  nights  in  PoUy's  part 

She  'd  make  the  playhouse  shake. 

Whenas  these  tidings  came  to  Glive, 

Fierce  Amazonian  dame  : 
"  Who  is  it  thus,"  in  rage  she  cries, 

"  Dares  rob  me  of  my  claim  ? " 

With  that  she  to  the  green-room  flew, 

Where  Gibber  meek  she  found  ; 
And  sure,  if  friends  had  not  been  by. 

Had  felled  her  to  the  ground,' 

But,  quarrels  notwithstanding,  Clive  steadily  advanced  in 
public  estimation ;  and  for  several  years  was  the  principal 
attraction  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  In  1741,  in  company 
with  Quin,  Ryan,  and  Madame  Chateneuf,  the  dancer,  she 
made  a  visit  to  Dublin,  and  played  for  a  short  time  with 
immense  applause  at  the  Aungier  Street  theatre.  In  1743 
there   was    trouble    at   Drury    Lane,   notwithstanding    the 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  79 

accession  of  Garrick,  who  had  recently  leaped  into  fame. 
Fleetwood,  the  manager,  was  perpetually  in  difficulties,  and 
salaries  at  length  got  so  hopelessly  in  arrear  that  Garrick, 
together  with  several  other  actors  and  actresses,  including 
Olive,  revolted.     Garrick's  notion  was  that  they  could  get 
a  licence  from  the  Duke  of  Grafton  to  perform  at  the  Opera 
House,  and  set  up  for  themselves.     But  when  the  Duke 
refused  such  a  licence,  the  astute  actor  saw  that  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  open  negotiations  for  a  reconciliation. 
Fleetwood,  however,  now  perceived  that  he  had  the  whip- 
hand  ;    and  although   Garrick   and   several   more   were  re- 
engaged, on  terms  somewhat  less  favourable  than  they  had 
previously  received,  Macklin  and  Olive  were  proscribed,  jpour 
encourager  les  autres.     The  patentees  of  both  houses  appear 
to  have  acted  in  concert  over  this  business,  plainly  seeing 
that  by  so  doing  they  could  reduce  the  actors'  profits  and 
augment  their  own.      Macklin  thought  that  Garrick  had 
treacherously  left  him  in  the  lurch,  and  his  friends,  headed 
by  a  certain  Dr.  Barrowby,  invaded  the  pit  of  Drury  Lane 
with  a  company  of  '  bruisers '  and  interrupted  the  perform- 
ance, until  Garrick's  friends  sent  in  after  them  a  phalanx 
of  thirty  boxers,  who  cracked  the  skulls  of  the  Macklinites, 
and  cleared  them  out  of  the  theatre.     Kitty  did  not  resort 
to  fisticuffs;  but  in  1774,  in  order,  as  she  says,  to  counteract 
certain  false  reports  which  had  become  current  in  conse- 
quence of  her  non-appearance,  she  issued  a  little  sixpenny 
pamphlet  of  twenty-two  pages,  entitled   The  Case  of  Mrs. 
Clive  submitted  to  the  Publick;  from  which  a  passage  or  two 
may  be  quoted,  both  to  show  the  facility  with  which  Kitty 
could  wield  a  pen  in  her  own  defence,  and  as  exhibiting  the 
awkward  predicament  in  which  an  actor  was  at  that  time 
placed  if  he  incurred  the  resentment  of  the  monopolists  of 
the  two  patent  theatres.     Kitty  contends  that  the  managers 
of  these  two  theatres  had  conspired  to  reduce  the  incomes 


80  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

of  the  performers,  and  that  part  of  their  plan  of  campaign 
had  been  to  publish  in  the  daily  papers  a  false  account  of 
the  actors'  emoluments  in  order  to  enlist  public  sympathy 
on  their  own  side.  So  far  as  her  own  case  is  concerned,  she 
says,  the  facts  are  as  follows : — 

'  Before  the  disputes  happened  betwixt  the  manager  of  Drury 
Lane  theatre  and  his  actors,  I  had  articled  for  five  years  to  receive 
£300  a  year,  though  another  performer  on  that  stage  received  for 
seven  years  500  guineas  per  year ;  and  at  the  expiration  of  my 
agreement,  the  manager  offered  me  an  additional  salary  to  continue 
at  that  theatre.  .  .  .  When  the  actors'  affairs  obliged  'em  to  return 
to  the  theatre  last  winter,  under  such  abatements  of  their  salaries 
as  hardly  afforded  the  greater  part  of  them  a  subsistence,  I  was 
offered  by  the  manager  of  Drury  Lane  theatre  such  terms  as  bore 
no  proportion  to  what  he  gave  other  performers,  or  to  those  he  had 
offered  me  at  the  beginning  of  the  season.  They  were  such  as  I 
was  advised  not  to  accept,  because  it  Avas  known  they  were  pro- 
posed for  no  reason  but  to  insult  me,  and  make  me  seek  for  better 
at  the  other  theatre ;  for  I  knew  it  had  been  settled  by  some  dark 
agreement  that  part  of  the  actors  were  to  go  to  Covent  Garden 
theatre,  and  others  to  Drury  Lane.  I  did,  indeed,  apprehend  that 
I  should  meet  with  better  terms  at  Covent  Garden,  because  that 
manager  had  made  many  overtures  to  get  me  into  his  company 
the  preceding  season,  and  many  times  before.  But  when  I  applied 
to  him,  he  offered  me  exactly  the  same  which  I  had  refused  at  the 
other  theatre,  and  which  I  likewise  rejected,  but  was  persuaded  to 
accept  some  very  little  later,  rather  than  seem  obstinate  in  not 
complying  as  well  as  others ;  and  yielded  so  far  to  the  necessity 
of  the  time  as  to  act  under  a  much  less  salary  than  several  other 
performers  on  that  stage,  and  submitted  to  pay  a  sum  of  money 
for  my  benefit,  notwithstanding  I  had  had  one  clear  of  all  expense 
for  nine  years  before — an  advantage  the  first  performers  had  been 
thought  to  merit  for  near  thirty  years,  and  had  grown  into  a 
custom.' 

However,  when  once  she  had  accepted  an  engagement  at 
Covent  Garden,  she  submitted  entirely  to  the  manager's 
direction,  did  all  she  could  to  promote  his  interests,  and 
acted  as  though  she  meant  to  stay  there.     But  she  found 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  81 

there  was  a  private  understanding  between  the  two  managers 
that  she  should  be  forced  to  make  apphcation  to  be  taken 
on  next  season  at  Drury  Lane— perhaps  at  a  further  reduc- 
tion in  terms. 

'At  the  end  of  the  acting  season  the  manager  sent  an  office- 
keeper  to  me  with  some  salary  that  was  due,  who  required  a 
receipt  in  full.  I  told  him  a  very  great  part  of  my  agreements 
were  yet  due,  and  requested  to  see  the  manager,  who  came  and 
acknowledged  them,  and  promised  to  bring  one  of  the  gentlemen 
who  was  present  at  our  engagements  in  a  day  or  two,  and  pay  me  ; 
but  he  has  not  paid  me,  nor  have  I  ever  seen  him  since,  or  as  much 
as  heard  from  him.' 

Not  only  did  she  receive  no  notice  of  dismissal,  but  the 
manager's  action  implied  that  her  services  were  to  be 
retained. 

'  It  has  always  been  a  custom  in  theatres  that  if  ever  any  actor 
or  actress  was  to  be  discharged,  or  their  allowance  lessened,  they 
were  acquainted  with  it  at  the  end  of  the  season ;  and  the  reason 
of  this  will  appear  to  be  the  giving  them  a  proper  notice  to  pro- 
vide for  themselves.  This  the  manager  of  Covent  Garden  did  to 
all  his  company  whom  he  designed  to  discharge,  or  whose  allow- 
ance was  to  be  lessened,  except  to  me,  which  made  me  actually 
then  conclude  he  determined  I  should  continue  with  him,  till  I 
was  undeceived  by  his  playbills  with  the  names  of  the  actresses  in 
parts  I  used  to  perform ;  so  that  he  has  not  only  broke  through 
the  customs  of  the  theatre,  but  those  in  practice  almost  every- 
where, in  dismissing  me,  and  has  done  me  a  real  injury  in  such  an 
unprecedented  act  of  injustice;  for  had  I  been  informed  of  his 
design  at  the  end  of  the  season,  I  could  have  made  terms  to  have 
acted  in  Ireland,  where  I  had  met  with  most  uncommon  civilities, 
and  received  very  great  advantages,  which  I  shall  ever  remember 
with  the  utmost  gratitude,  and  take  this  and  every  other  oppor- 
tunity to  acknowledge.' 

She  points  out,  moreover,  that  actors  are  not  in  the  posi- 
tion of  other  servants,  who,  when  dismissed,  have  thousands 
of  other  possible  employers  to  apply  to,  for  it  is  unlawful  for 

F 


82  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

them  to  act  anywhere  but  in  the  two  patent  theatres.  Con- 
sequently, not  only  has  it  been  customary  to  give  actors 
notice  of  discharge,  but  it  has  also  been  customary  never 
to  discharge  any  but  such  as  had  either  neglected  their 
business,  or  become  obnoxious  to  the  public.  The  manager 
of  Drury  Lane,  she  goes  on  to  say,  though  knowing  well 
enough  of  her  disengagement  from  the  other  theatre,  has 
made  no  application  to  her  (as  he  has  done  to  some  others 
who  quitted  the  other  house  at  the  same  time  as  herself), 
to  act  for  him. 

'The  reasons  which  obliged  me  to  leave  him  still  subsist.  He 
owes  me  a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  twelve  shillings,  which  he 
has  acknowledged  to  be  justly  due,  and  promised  payment  of  it 
by  last  Christmas,  to  a  person  of  too  great  consequence  for  me  to 
mention  here — the  greater  part  of  it  money  I  expended  for  clothes 
for  his  use.  He  offered  me  last  season  not  near  half  as  much  as 
he  afterwards  agreed  to  give  another  performer,  and  less  than  he 
gave  to  some  others  in  his  company ;  so  that  I  must  conclude  (as 
every  one  knows  there  are  agreements  between  the  managers)  that 
there  is  a  design  to  distress  me,  and  reduce  me  to  such  terms  as 
I  cannot  comply  with.' 

As  to  her  performances,  she  says,  the  audience  are  the 
only  proper  judges.  But  she  may  venture  to  affirm  that 
her  labour  and  application  have  been  unequalled  by  any 
other  performer.  She  has  not  only  acted  in  almost  all  the 
plays,  but  also  in  farces,  and  in  musical  entertainments, 
frequently  playing  two  parts  a  night,  to  the  prejudice  of 
her  health.  She  has  likewise  been  at  great  expense  for 
masters  in  singing,  and  has  had  additional  expenses  for 
clothes  and  other  necessaries  for  the  theatre,  amounting  to 
over  £100  a  year.  If  any  should  think  she  is  maldng  this 
too  grave  a  matter,  she  begs  them  to  remember  that  it  is 
one  upon  which  her  liberty  and  livelihood  depend ;  and  she 
submits  her  case  to  the  judgment  of  the  public,  most  earnestly 
soliciting  the  favour  and  protection  of  those  who  have  always 


CATHERINE  OLIVE  83 

hitherto  treated  her  with  great  generosity  and  indulgence. 
Kitty's  appeal,  however,  did  not  have  the  effect  she  desired 
and  expected ;  and  she  was  not  reinstated  at  Drury  Lane 
until  Garrick  became  manager  in  April  1747.  After  that 
date,  with  the  exception  of  one  short  visit  to  Dublin,  she 
never  performed  anywhere  else;  and  for  twenty-two  years 
her  only  rival  in  public  favour  was  the  great  'Roscius' 
himself. 

Her  relations  with  Garrick  were  not  always  of  the  most 
amicable  character.  Horace  Walpole,  in  some  sneering 
comments  on  the  'ridiculous  pomp'  of  the  great  actor's 
funeral  in  1779,  remarks  that  Garrick's  envy  and  jealousy 
were  unbounded,  and  that  he  hated  Mrs.  Olive  until  she 
quitted  the  stage,  though  he  then  cried  her  up  to  the  skies 
in  order  to  depress  Mrs.  Abington.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
John  Taylor  observes,  with  some  degree  of  truth,  that  Mrs. 
Olive  was  eminent  as  an  actress  in  London  before  Garrick 
made  his  appearance  at  Drury  Lane,  and  that  she  never 
forgave  him  for  throwing  her  (and  all  others)  into  the  shade. 
The  admiration  which  these  two  capital  performers  could 
not  help  occasionally  expressing  for  each  other's  powers 
was  forced  from  them  against  their  wills.  '  One  night,'  says 
Taylor, '  as  Garrick  was  performing  King  Lear,  she  stood 
behind  the  scenes  to  observe  him,  and  in  spite  of  the 
roughness  of  her  nature,  was  so  deeply  affected  that  she 
sobbed  one  minute  and  abused  him  the  next,  and  at  length, 
overcome  by  his  pathetic  touches,  she  hurried  from  the 
place  with  the  following  extraordinary  tribute  to  the 
universality  of  his  powers — "  Damn  him !  I  believe  he 
could  act  a  gridiron  !  "  '  Tate  Wilkinson  has  preserved 
an  amusing  instance  or  two  of  her  squabbles  with  the  great 
actor- manager.  On  one  occasion,  Lethe  (in  which  Mrs. 
Olive  took  the  part  of  the  Fine  Lady)  was  to  be  acted  by 
desire  of  several  persons  of  distinction.     The  bill — whether 


84  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

by  accident  or  design  Tate  could  not  say — merely  an- 
nounced, '  A  dramatic  satire  called  Lethe.  The  new  char- 
acter of  Lord  Chalkstone  by  Mr.  Garrick,'  without  any 
mention  of  Woodward,  or  Yates,  or  Clive,  who  were  all  in 
the  cast.     Thereupon — 

'  Madam  Clive  at  noon  came  to  the  theatre  and  furiously  rang 
the  alarm  bell :  for  her  name  being  omitted  was  an  offence  she 
construed  so  heinous  that  nothing  but  vengeance,  and  blood  ! 
blood  !  lago  was  the  word,  and  it  was  no  more  strange  than 
true  that  Garrick  feared  to  meet  that  female  spirit  .  .  .  Mrs. 
CHve  was  a  mixture  of  combustibles — she  was  passionate,  cross, 
vulgar,  yet  sensible,  and  a  very  generous  woman,  and  as  a  comic 
actress  of  genuine  worth — indeed,  indeed,  she  was  a  diamond  of 
the  first  water.  When  her  farce  of  the  Fine  Lady  came  on  she 
was  received  with  the  usual  expression  of  gladness  on  her 
approach,  as  so  charming  an  actress  so  truly  deserved ;  and  her 
song  from  the  Italian  opera,  where  she  was  free  with  a  good 
ridiculous  imitation  of  Signora  Mingotti,  who  was  the  darling 
favourite  at  the  King's  Theatre,  and  admired  by  all  the  amateurs, 
she  was  universally  encored,  and  came  off  the  stage  much  sweet- 
ened in  temper  and  manners  from  her  first  going  on.  "  Aye,"  says 
she  in  triumph,  "that  artful  devil  could  not  hurt  me  with  the 
Town,  though  he  had  sti'uck  my  name  out  of  the  bills."  She 
laughed  and  joked  about  her  late  ill-humour  as  if  she  could  have 
kissed  all  around  her  .  .  .  and  what  added  to  her  applause  was 
her  inwai-d  joy,  triumph,  and  satisfaction,  in  finding  the  little 
great  man  was  afraid  to  meet  her.' 

Tate  Wilkinson  was  himself  responsible  for  one  of  the 
scenes  which  he  describes  with  such  ungrammatical  gusto. 
Mrs.  Clive  had  written  a  farce,  entitled  The  Rehearsal  or 
Bayes  in  Petticoats,  which  was  to  be  performed  on  the 
occasion  of  her  benefit  in  1750.  But  a  few  days  before  the 
date  fixed,  Wilkinson  inveigled  his  friend  Joseph  Austin 
away  to  Portsmouth,  to  play  for  him  there,  and  Austin  was 
unable  to  get  back  to  London  soon  enough  to  take  the  part 
which  had  been  allotted  to  him  in  the  farce  for  Mrs.  dive's 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  85 

benefit.  She  was  therefore  reduced  to  the  alternative  of 
abandoning  her  new  farce  in  favour  of  somebody  else's  old 
and  familiar  one,  or  of  having  Austin's  part  read ;  and  she 
decided  on  the  latter  course.  But  her  piece  was  unfortun- 
ately damned, '  and  the  dreadful  doom  of  it  she  attributed 
entirely  to  the  neglective  and  audacious  behaviour  of  that 
impudent  Austin.'  Both  Austin  and  Garrick  beat  a  retreat, 
for  they  knew  what  to  expect;  Kitty  being,  as  Wilkinson 
declares,  the  terror  of  the  whole  green-room.  But  after  a 
little  while  Garrick's  curiosity  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he 
returned  to  the  scene  of  battle,  thinking  he  might  enjoy  the 
tumult  without  being  observed.  But  Kitty  spied  him,  and 
poimced  upon  him  like  a  cat  on  a  mouse,  pouring  out  a  bitter 
and  furious  harangue,  in  which  she  charged  him  with  aiding 
and  abetting  in  a  plot  to  destroy  her  fame.  Garrick  protested 
his  innocence — denounced  Austin,  damned  Wilkinson — and 
at  length  succeeded  in  pacifying  the  infuriated  actress  and 
authoress  by  assurances  that  her  acting  in  the  piece  had 
charmed  him,  and  that  the  farce  itself  was  one  of  the  most 
entertaining  and  best  written  pieces  that  had  been  produced 
for  years. 

Mrs.  Clive  wrote  several  farces  on  various  occasions, 
usually  for  her  own  benefits;  but  the  only  one  that  was 
ever  printed  was  The  Rehearsal.  It  contains  some  amus- 
ing touches.  Mrs.  Hazard,  the  principal  character,  a 
violent-tempered  woman  (played  by  herself),  has  written 
a  '  Burletto,'  and  the  comedy  turns  on  the  preparations  for 
its  rehearsal,  which  after  all  never  takes  place. 

'  Mrs.  Hazard.  ...  I  have  taken  great  care  to  be  delicate  ;  I 
may  be  dull,  but  I  'm  delicate,  so  that  I  'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  the 
Town.  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  of  the  performers.  Lord  ! 
what  pity  'tis  the  great  tragedy  actors  can't  sing  !  I  'm  about  a 
new  thing,  which  I  shall  call  a  Burletto,  which  I  take  from  some 
incidents  in  Don  Quixote,  that  I  believe  will  be  as  high  humour  as 


86  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

was  ever  brought  upon  the  stage.  But  then  I  shall  want  actors. 
Oh  !  if  that  dear  Garrick  could  but  sing,  what  a  Don  Quixote 
he  'd  make ! 

'  Witling. ^Don't  you  think  Barry  Avould  be  better  1  He 's  so 
tall,  you  know,  and  so  finely  made  for  't.  If  I  was  to  advise  I 
would  carry  that  to  Covent  Garden. 

'Mrs.  Hazard.— Covent  Garden  !  Lord  !  I  wouldn't  think  of 
it.     It  stands  in  such  bad  air. 

'  Witling. — Bad  air  ! 

'  Mrs.  Hazard. — Ay  :  the  actors  can't  play  there  above  three 
days  a  week.  They  have  more  need  of  a  physician  than  a  poet  at 
that  house. 

'  Witling.— But  pray.  Madam,  you  say  you  are  to  call  your 
new  thing  a  Burletto ;  what  is  a  Burletto  1 

'  Mrs.  Hazard. — What  is  a  Burletto  1  Why,  haven't  you  seen 
one  at  the  Haymarket  1 

'  Witling. — Yes,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  is  for  all  that. 

'  Mrs.  Hazard. — Don't  you  !  Why  then,  let  me  die  if  I  can  tell 
you  :  but  I  believe  it 's  a  kind  of  poor  relation  to  an  opera.' 

In  the  course  of  the  play  she  took  occasion  to  air  some  of 
her  grievances,  under  cover  of  poking  fun  at  herself  as  well 
as  at  some  of  the  other  actors.  When  Witling  hears  that 
one  of  the  characters  in  her  piece  is  a  mad  woman,  he  asks 
who  is  to  act  that. 

'  Mrs.  Hazard. — Why,  Mrs.  Clive  to  be  sure,  though  I  wish 
she  don't  spoil  it,  for  she's  so  conceited  and  insolent  that  she 
won't  let  me  teach  it  her.  You  must  know,  when  I  told  her  I 
had  a  part  for  her  in  a  performance  of  mine,  in  the  prettiest 
manner  I  was  able  (for  one  must  be  civil  to  those  sort  of  people 
when  one  wants  them),  says  she — "Indeed,  Madam,  I  must  see  the 
whole  piece,  for  I  shall  take  no  part  in  a  new  thing  without  chus- 
ing  that  which  I  think  I  can  act  best.  I  have  been  a  great 
sufferer  already  by  the  managers  not  doing  justice  to  my  genius  ; 
but  I  hope  I  shall  next  year  convince  the  ToAvn  what  fine  judg- 
ment they  have,  for  I  intend  to  play  a  capital  tragedy  part  for 
ray  own  benefit. 

'  Witling. — And  what  did  you  say  to  her,  pray  1 

'  Mrs.  Hazard. — Say  to  her !     Why,   do  you  think   I  would 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  87 

venture  to  expostulate  with  herl  No,  I  desired  Mr.  Garrick 
would  take  her  in  hand,  so  he  ordered  her  the  part  of  the  mad 
woman  directly.' 

The  little  piece  is  good  enough  of  its  kind,  and  one  would 
scarcely  expect  it  to  have  been  damned  so  unequivocally  as 
Tate  Wilkinson  says  it  was ;  though  Garrick's  commenda- 
tion of  it  as  one  of  the  most  entertaining  and  best  written 
pieces  that  had  been  produced  for  years  must  be  set  down 
to  his  anxiety  to  pacify  the  irritable  lady  at  all  costs. 
Another  farce  of  hers,  entitled  a  Sketch  of  a  Fine  Ladys 
Rout,  was  played  on  her  benefit  night  in  1763,  and  although 
it  was  never  printed,  an  account  of  it  in  a  contemporary 
newspaper  seems  to  show  promise  of  a  lively  entertainment. 
The  characters  are  Sir  Jeremy  Jenkins,  a  city  knight ;  two 
of  his  clerks ;  a  footman ;  Mr.  Nettle,  an  attorney ;  Lady 
Jenkins  (played  by  Mrs.  Clive),  and  Jane,  her  maid.  The 
piece  opens  with  a  conversation  between  the  clerks  on  the 
absurdity  of  Lady  Jenkins  setting  up  for,  and  running  into, 
all  the  extravagances  of  a  woman  of  quality,  when  her 
husband  has  not  been  dubbed  more  than  a  month  or  so. 
Then  Jane  comes  in,  half  asleep,  weary  with  waiting  for  her 
mistress  who  has  not  yet  returned  home  from  some  party, 
though  it  is  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  When  her  lady- 
ship does  come  home  to  supper,  Sir  Jeremy  is  just  sitting 
down  to  his  breakfast.  The  pair  converse  on  the  manners 
of  the  polite  world,  and  she  relates  how,  after  persistent 
attempts  on  two  or  three  Duchesses,  she  has  at  last  gained 
admittance  to  the  house  of  one  of  the  number.  Then,  Sir 
Jeremy  being  called  away  on  business,  Lady  Jenkins  re- 
capitulates her  losses  at  play,  pulls  out  her  purse  to  see  how 
much  money  she  has  left,  and,  overcome  with  weariness, 
falls  asleep,  leaving  the  cash  spread  out  on  a  table.  A 
moment  afterwards  Jane  enters  with  a  cup  of  coffee  that 
had  been  called  for;   but,  seeing  her  mistress  to  be  fast 


88  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

asleep,  she  steals  two  or  three  guineas  from  the  heap  on  the 
table,  and  softly  goes  out  again.  Then  Sir  Jeremy,  who  has 
received  a  letter  from  his  bankers  asking  for  £300  which 
they  have  advanced  to  her  ladyship  on  his  account,  comes 
rushing  in  to  upbraid  her  for  her  extravagance ;  but,  seeing 
the  money  lying  on  the  table,  first  pockets  that,  and  then 
wakes  my  lady.  A  scene  of  violent  altercation  follows, 
which  is  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Nettle,  the 
attorney.  Sir  Jeremy  asks  him  whether  he  is  bound  to 
satisfy  his  banker's  demand  for  the  £300,  and,  after  putting 
a  few  questions  to  the  lady,  Mr.  Nettle  decides  that  he  is. 
But  the  wily  attorney  advises  Sir  Jeremy  to  bring  an  action 
against  any  person  to  whom  her  ladyship  has  lost  more 
than  £10  at  one  time,  promising  him  large  damages,  and 
anticipating  a  fine  bill  of  costs  for  himself.  When  Lady 
Jenkins  names  the  time  and  place  where  she  lost  £100  to 
one  person,  the  lawyer  is  jubilant ;  but  when  she  goes  on  to 
mention  the  person's  name,  and  he  finds  that  it  was  his  own 
wife,  he  runs  raving  from  the  room.  After  this  the  play 
ends  by  Lady  Jenkins  promising  never  to  play  again  for  any 
sum  that  can  make  her  blush,  or  her  husband  uneasy.  It  is 
amusing  to  learn  that  the  author  of  this  little  diatribe 
against  gambling  was  herself  greatly  addicted  to  cards, 
and  if  her  losses  did  not  make  her  blush,  they  certainly 
caused  her  to  flush,  and,  likewise,  occasionally  to  use 
language  which  in  the  twentieth  century  is  considered  unfit 
for  publication ! 

From  time  to  time,  so  long  as  she  remained  on  the  stage, 
Mrs.  Olive  enlivened  the  green-room  with  her  quarrels  both 
with  the  manager  and  the  performers.  Before  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton  came  to  Drury  Lane  she  and  Mrs.  Olive  had  clashed  on 
v^arious  occasions ;  and  afterwards  their  perpetual  squabbles 
caused  much  diversion  to  their  respective  partisans.  Accord- 
ing to  Davies — 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  89 

'Woffington  was  well-bred,  seemingly  very  calm,  and  at  all 
times  mistress  of  herself.  Clive  was  frank,  open,  impetuous ;  what 
came  uppermost  in  her  mind  she  spoke  without  reserve :  the  other 
blunted  the  sharp  speeches  of  Clive  by  her  apparently  civil,  but 
keen  and  sarcastic  replies  :  thus  she  often  threw  Clive  off  her  guard 
by  an  arch  severity  which  the  warmth  of  the  other  could  not  easily 
parry.  No  two  women  of  high  rank  ever  hated  one  another  more 
unreservedly  than  these  great  dames  of  the  theatre.  But  though 
the  passions  of  each  were  as  lofty  as  those  of  a  first  Dutchess, 
yet  they  wanted  the  courtly  art  of  concealing  them;  and  this 
occasioned,  now  and  then,  a  very  grotesque  scene  in  the  green- 
room.' 

In  1761  she  had  a  quarrel  with  Shuter,  which  amused 
not  only  the  green-room,  but  the  whole  town.  She  had 
selected  for  her  benefit  a  play  called  The  Island  of  Slaves, 
which  was  avowedly  a  translation  from  the  French,  and  by 
some  believed  to  be  a  translation  of  her  own  making.  The 
selection  of  such  a  piece  was  adversely  commented  on  in  a 
letter  to  the  papers,  to  which  she  replied  saying  that,  while 
she  had  always  despised  the  politics  of  the  French,  she  never 
yet  heard  that  we  were  at  war  with  their  wit ;  and,  moreover, 
that  it  need  not  be  imputed  to  her  as  a  crime  to  have  an 
avowed  translation  produced,  seeing  that '  one  part  in  three 
of  all  the  comedies  now  acting  are  taken  from  the  french  .  .  . 
without  confessing  from  whence  they  came.'  But,  having  a 
suspicion  that  Shuter  was  the  author  of  the  newspaper 
attack,  she  also  addressed  to  him  the  following  curious 
epistle : — 

'  Sir — I  Much  Desire  you  would  Do  Me  the  Favour  to  let  me 
know  if  you  was  the  author  of  a  letter  in  the  Dayle  Gazetteer  relat- 
ing to  this  New  Piece  I  had  for  my  benefet ;  as  it  was  intended  to 
hurt  my  Benefet,  and  serve  yours  everybody  will  naturely  con- 
clude you  was  the  author  if  you  are  not  ashamed  of  being  so  I 
suppose  you  will  own  it :  if  you  really  was  not  concerned  in 
wrightin  it  I  shall  be  very  glad  :  for  I  should  be  extreamly  shock'd 
that  an  actor  should  be  guilty  of  so  base  an  action  ;  I  dont  often 


90  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

take  the  liberty  of  wrighting  to  the  Publick  but  am  Now  under  a 
Nessity  of  Doing  it — therefore  Desier  your  answer.' 

The  letter  is  not  up  to  Kitty's  usual  level  in  composition, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  spelling ;  and  Shuter  maliciously  pub- 
lished it.  But  he  also  went  to  the  trouble  of  swearing  an 
affidavit  before  a  magistrate  to  clear  himself  of  the  imputation 
of  having  attempted  to  injure  her  benefit.  Kitty  had  frequent 
bickerings  Avith  Woodward  ;  but  Davies  records  one  instance 
in  which  she  behaved  with  remarkable  (and,  as  the  other 
players  evidently  thought,  disappointing)  self-control.  On 
this  occasion  when  Woodward  was  acting  Brisk  to  her  Lady 
Froth  in  Congreve's  Double  Dealer,  it  happened  that  in  the 
hurry  of  dressing  she  had  laid  on  an  extraordinary  quantity  of 
rouge.  In  the  scene  wherein  Brisk  has  to  criticise  the  lady's 
heroic  poem,  instead  of  saying,  '  Your  coachTnan  having  a 
red  face/  Woodward,  either  wilfully  or  by  accident,  said, 
'  Your  Ladyship  having  a  red  face.'  The  house  rang  with 
peals  of  laughter,  and  Woodward  looked,  or  afi'ected  to 
look,  very  abashed.  But  Olive,  says  Davies,  bore  the  trial 
heroically.  When  she  and  Woodward  left  the  stage  for  the 
green-room,  all  the  other  players  gathered  round,  expecting 
a  display  of  Kitty's  fireworks;  but  she  merely  said,  quite 
quietly,  'Come,  Mr.  Woodward,  let  us  rehearse  the  next 
scene,  lest  more  blunders  should  fall  out.'  Quin  and  she  could 
never  get  on  together  when  they  happened  to  be  acting  in 
the  same  company;  and  many  stories  are  told  of  their 
frequent  jars.  But  it  was  at  Garrick  that  her  shafts  were 
mostly  aimed — for  a  period  of  more  than  twenty  years. 
John  Bernard  says  that  whenever  Garrick  offended  her, 
Kitty  would  drive  him  about  the  house,  like  a  terrier  after 
a  rat,  and  abuse  him  to  his  face,  till  he  was  completely 
dumfounded. 

'  One  day  he  completely  lost  his  patience,  and  exclaimed,  "  I'll 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  91 

tell  you  what,  Mrs.  Clive,  I — I — I  tell  you  what,  ma'am— if  you — 
if  you  repeat  such  language  to  me— me — David  Garrick,  who  am 
your  manager,  I — I — I'll  instantly  discharge  you."  "You  dare 
not,"  she  replied.  "I  dare  not?"  "No,— you  know  if  I  was  to 
walk  out  of  your  doors,  you  'd  run  to  my  house,  in  a  shower  of 
rain  with  your  coat  off,  to  bring  me  back  again  1 " ' 

It  is  true  enough,  no  doubt,  that  Garrick  would  have  put  up 
with  a  good  deal  of  abuse  rather  than  lose  Kitty's  services ; 
and  his  biographer,  Davies,  says  that  '  whenever  he  had  a 
difference  with  Mrs.  Clive,  he  was  happy  to  make  a  drawn 
battle  of  it.' 

In  the  Private  Correspondence  of  David  Garrick  with 
the  most  Celebrated  Persons  of  his  Time,  edited,  in  two 
volumes,  by  James  Boaden,  in  1831,  there  are  a  number  of 
highly  interesting  letters  to  and  from  Mrs.  Clive.  Boaden 
says  he  has  corrected  the  spelling,  and  gives  for  so  doing  the 
very  quaint  reason,  that  she  lived  with  Garrick  afterwards 
on  the  happiest  terms.  But  although  Kitty's  spelling  was 
certainly  uncommonly  bad,  there  is  never  any  possibility  of 
mistaking  her  meaning ;  and  when  she  had  a  grievance,  few 
people  could  make  out  a  better  case  for  themselves  than  she 
could.  In  October  1765,  for  example,  she  gave  the  manager 
a  piece  of  her  mind  in  the  following  terms : — 

'  Sir, — I  beg  you  would  do  me  the  favour  to  let  me  know  if  it 
was  by  your  order  that  my  money  was  stopped  last  Saturday  :  you 
was  so  good,  indeed,  last  week  to  bid  me  take  care  or  I  should  be 
catched, — I  thought  you  was  laughing,  and  did  not  know  it  was  a 
determined  thing. 

It  was  never  before  expected  of  a  performer  to  be  in  waiting 
when  their  names  are  not  in  the  papers  or  bills ;  the  public  are 
witness  for  me  whether  I  have  ever  neglected  my  business.  You 
may  (if  you  please  to  recollect)  remember  I  have  never  disappointed 
you  four  times  since  you  have  been  a  manager;  I  have  always  had 
good  health,  and  have  ever  been  above  subterfuge.  I  hope  this 
stopping  of  money  is  not  a  French  fashion ;  I  believe  you  will  not 
find  any  part  of  the  English  laws  that  will  support  this  sort  of 


92  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

treatment  of  an  actress,  who  has  a  right,  from  her  character  and 
service  on  the  stage,  to  expect  some  kind  of  respect. 

'  I  have  never  received  any  favours  from  you  or  Mr.  Lacy,  nor 
shall  ever  ask  any  of  you,  therefore  hope  you  will  be  so  good  to 
excuse  me  for  endeavouring  to  defend  myself  from  what  I  think  an 
injury ;  it  has  been  too  often  repeated  to  submit  to  it  any  longer. 
You  stopped  four  days'  salary  when  I  went  to  Dublin,  though  you 
gave  me  leave  to  go  before  the  house  shut  up,  and  said  you  would 
do  without  me.  If  I  had  known  your  intention,  I  would  not  have 
lost  any  of  my  salary,  as  my  agreement  with  Mr.  Barry  did  not 
begin  till  our  house  had  shut  up.  I  had  my  money  last  year 
stopped  at  the  beginning  of  the  season,  for  not  coming  to  rehearse 
two  parts  that  I  could  repeat  in  my  sleep,  and  which  must  have 
cost  me  two  guineas,  besides  the  pleasure  of  coming  to  Town. 

'  I  am  sure  I  have  always  done  everything  in  my  power  to  serve 
and  oblige  you  :  the  first  I  have  most  undoubtedly  succeeded  in  ; 
the  latter  I  have  always  been  unfortunately  unsuccessful  in,  though 
I  have  taken  infinite  pains. 

'  The  year  Mrs.  Vincent  came  on  the  stage,  it  cost  me  above  five 
pounds  to  go  to  and  from  London  to  rehearse  with  her,  and  teach 
her  the  part  of  Polly  ;  I  could  not  be  called  on  to  do  it,  as  it  was 
long  before  the  house  opened, — it  was  to  oblige  Mr.  Garrick.  I 
have  never  envied  you  your  equipages  nor  grandeur,  the  fine 
fortune  you  have  already  and  must  still  be  encreasing.  I  have  had 
Ijut  a  very  small  share  of  the  public  money  :  you  gave  Mrs.  Gibber 
£600  for  playing  sixty  nights,  and  £300  to  me  for  playing  a 
hundred  and  eighty, — out  of  which  I  can  make  it  appear  it  cost  me 
£100  in  necessaries  for  the  stage ;  sure  you  need  not  want  to  take 
anything  from  it.  .  .  .' 

Whetlier  this  voluble  and  vigorous  appeal  accomplished  its 
object  or  not  we  cannot  tell,  for  Garrick's  answer  has  not 
been  preserved.  But  she  was  not  always  successful ;  and,  to 
say  truth,  she  was  frequently  not  only  extremely  touchy, 
but  unreasonable,  especially  in  connection  with  her  benefits. 
In  February  1768  she  was  deeply  aggrieved  at  the  date  which 
had  been  set  down  for  her ;  and  wrote  to  the  managers  saying 
she  was  not  to  be  the  dupe  of  their  ill-treatment,  adding, 
'  Whether  I  am  injured  or  not  will  appear  to  all  who  are 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  93 

imparsial :  as  to  your  sneering  about  my  consequence,  you 
may  take  what  steps  you  please  with  your  power,  but  you 
can't  mortifie  me.'  Garrick  replied  the  next  day,  saying  that 
she  always  chose  to  have  some  quarrel  at  her  benefit,  but  in 
this  instance,  at  any  rate,  there  was  no  occasion  for  anything 
of  the  kind,  for  she  had  been  given  the  best  day  of  the  week, 
and  the  arrangement  had  been  made  in  all  kindness  to  her. 
But  she  was  not  to  be  mollified ;  and  on  the  18th  of  February 
addressed  to  Garrick  the  following  angry  epistle,  which,  as 
the  original  is  preserved  in  the  Forster  collection  at  South 
Kensington,  can  here  be  given  verbatiin  et  literatim : — 

'I  am  Much  Surprised  to  hear  that  you  have  fixed  the  17  of 
March  for  my  benefit,  and  that  Mrs.  Dancer  is  to  have  the  Monday 
before  (which  as  Mr.  Hopkins  tells  me  was  Designed  for  Barry ; 
and  hope  I  shall  not  be  guilty  of  vanity  in  saying  that  upon 
Drury  Lane  Theatre  Neither  Mr.  Barry  nor  Mrs.  Dancer  have  a 
right  to  their  benefits  before  me ;  I  have  Done  you  great  Service 
this  Season  and  at  every  Call  when  they  either  Cou'd  not  or  Wou'd 
not  play  have  been  the  Stop  gap  in  playing  principal  parts— and 
even  when  I  have  been  extremely  ill ;  and  Do  not  Suppose  that 
expostulation  will  have  any  effect  to  alter  what  Mr.  Lacy  and  you 
have  pleased  to  settle  Therefore  all  I  mean  by  giving  you  this 
trouble  is  to  assure  you  that  I  will  not  accept  of  that  Day,  nor  will 
I  advertise  for  it,  if  I  am  wrong  in  this  Determination  I  may  loose 
my  friends  and  they  will  Naturely  think  you  have  acted  justly  by 
Your  hum  Servt  C.  Clive.' 

Garrick  again  tried  to  smooth  her  down ;  but  she  fastened 
upon  some  innocent  expression  in  his  letter  and  replied: 
'  Any  one  who  sees  your  letter  would  suppose  I  was  kept 
at  your  Theatre  out  of  Charitey.  If  you  will  look  over  the 
number  of  times  I  have  play'd  this  season,  you  must  think 
I  have  desarvd  the  money  you  give  me';  to  which  the 
manager  rejoined : — 

•Dear  Clive, — How  can  you  be  so  ridiculous,  and  still  so  cross, 
to  mistake  every  word  of  my  letter.  .  .  .  You  will  find,  in  your 


94  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

present  humour,  objections  to  any  day,  but  wc  really  meant  you 
Kindly  in  giving  you  your  own  day,  that  you  might  avoid  opera 
nights,  and  have  nobody  to  come  immediately  before  or  after  you. 
This  I  did  not  do  out  of  charity,  but  out  of  that  respect  which  I 
ever  pay  to  genius,  and  it  is  not  my  fault  if  Mrs.  Clive  will  not 
be  as  rational  off  the  stage,  as  she  is  meritorious  on  it.' 

By  this  time,  however,  Kitty  was  getting  weary  of  the 
stage,  and  contemplating  retirement.  Garrick's  biographer, 
Davies,  conveys  the  impression  that  Clive  and  he  parted  on 
anything  but  amicable  terms.  He  says  that  about  a  year 
after  the  retirement  of  Mrs.  Pritchard,  it  was  rumoured  that 
her  constant  companion  and  friend,  Mrs.  Clive,  intended  to 
follow  her  example;  and  that  Garrick  thereupon  sent  his 
prompter  to  know  what  truth  there  was  in  the  report.  But 
to  such  a  messenger  she  disdained  to  give  an  answer. 
Garrick  then  sent  his  brother  George,  and  Mrs.  Clive  was 
scarcely  more  civil  to  him,  telling  him  that  if  his  brother 
wished  to  know  her  mind  he  should  call  on  her  himself. 
When  Garrick  did  call,  Davies  says  that  he  complimented 
her  on  her  great  merit  as  an  actress,  and  expressed  his 
hope  that  she  intended  to  remain  on  the  stage  some 
years  longer.  Her  answer  was  a  look  of  contempt,  and 
a  decisive  negative. 

'  He  asked  how  much  she  was  worth  ;  she  replied  briskly,  as 
much  as  himself.  Upon  his  smiling  at  his  supposed  ignorance  or 
misinformation,  she  explained  herself  by  telling  him  that  she  knew 
when  she  had  enough,  though  he  never  would.  He  then  entreated 
her  to  renew  her  engagement  for  three  or  four  years  ;  she  peremp- 
torily refused.  Upon  repeating  his  regret  at  her  leaving  the 
stage,  she  frankly  told  him  she  hated  hypocrisy,  for  she  was  sure 
he  would  light  up  candles  for  joy  of  her  leaving  him — but  that  it 
would  be  attended  with  some  expense  ! ' 

It  is  likely  enough  that  there  was  some  such  scene  as 
this  ;  but  their  differences  must  have  been  soon  healed ;  for 
not  only  did  she  not  part  with  him  on  bad  terms,  but  she 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  95 

remained  on  friendly  and  even  affectionate  terms  with  him 
to  the  end  of  his  life.  When  it  was  settled  that  she  should 
take  formal  leave  of  the  stage,  on  the  occasion  of  her  benefit, 
in  April  1769,  Garrick  at  once  offered  to  play  for  her ;  and 
she  wrote  to  him  saying : — 

'  I  am  most  extremely  obliged  for  your  very  polite  letter.  How 
charming  you  can  be  when  you  are  good ;  I  believe  there  is  only 
one  person  in  the  world  who  has  ever  known  the  difference.  I 
shall  certainly  make  use  of  the  favour  you  oflfer  me ;  it  gives  me 
a  double  pleasure — the  entertainment  my  friends  will  receive  from 
your  performance,  and  the  being  convinced  that  you  have  a  sort 
of  sneaking  kindness  for  your  Pivy,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  you 
tapping  me  on  the  shoulder  (as  you  do  to  Violante)  when  I  bid 
you  farewell,  and  desiring  one  tender  look  before  we  part,  though 
perhaps  you  may  recollect  and  toss  the  pancake  into  the  cinders. 
You  see  I  never  forget  your  good  things.  Pray  make  my  best 
compliments  to  Mrs.  Garrick,  and  believe  I  shall  always  have 
sincere  pleasure  when  I  can  assure  you  I  am,  your  obliged  and 
humble  servant,  C.  Clive.' 

Garrick  endorsed  this—'  A  love  letter — the  first  I  ever 
had  from  that  truly  great  comedian,  Mrs.  Clive.'  It  was  by 
no  means  the  last,  as  will  be  seen.  A  short  time  before  the 
date  fixed  for  her  final  benefit  Garrick  fell  ill,  but  he  wrote 
to  reassure  her  with  news  of  his  recovery ;  and  she  promptly 
replied : — 

'  I  would  not  stay  till  the  24th  to  thank  you  for  your  very  kind 
letter.  I  am  extremely  glad  to  hear  you  continue  to  be  so  very 
well.  I  have  often  enquired  after  you  of  your  brother  George : — 
now,  do  not  say — ay,  for  your  own  sake ;  for  when  I  heard  you 
was  in  such  great  pain  I  was  most  sincerely  sorry.  In  the  next 
place,  to  be  sure,  I  am  glad  you  are  well,  for  the  sake  of  my 
audience,  who  will  have  the  pleasure  to  see  their  own  Don  Felix. 
What  signifies  fifty-two  1  They  had  rather  see  the  Garrick  and 
(he  Chve  at  a  hundred-and-four  than  any  of  the  moderns ; — the 
ancients,  you  know,  have  always  been  admired.  I  do  assure  you, 
I  am  at  present  in  such  health  and  such  spirits,  that  when  I  re- 
collect I  am  an  old  woman  I  am  astonished.     My  dear  Town  are 


96  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

giving  me  such  applause  every  time  they  see  me  that  I  am  in 
great  fear  for  myself  on  my  benefit  night :  I  shall  be  overcome 
with  kindness.' 

She  then  adds,  respecting  another  matter,  the  only  refer- 
ence to  her  husband  to  be  found  in  any  of  her  correspon- 
dence :  '  You  are  very  much  mistaken  if  you  imagine  I  shall 
be  sorry  to  hear  Mr.  Olive  is  well ;  I  thank  God  I  have  no 
malice  or  hatred  to  anybody :  besides,  it  is  so  long  ago  since 
I  thought  he  used  me  ill,  that  I  have  quite  forgot  it.  I  am 
very  glad  he  is  well  and  happy.' 

The  pieces  selected  for  her  final  benefit,  on  the  24th  of 
April  1769,  were  The  Wonder  and  Lethe.  All  the  pit  was 
taken  into  the  boxes,  the  house  was  crowded  with  a  brilliant 
audience,  and  was,  indeed,  not  half  large  enough  to  accom- 
modate all  who  had  applied  for  seats.  When  the  play 
was  over,  Kitty  spoke  the  following  epilogue,  which  had 
been  written  by  her  friend  and  neighbour,  Horace  Walpole  : — 

'  With  Glory  satiate,  from  the  busthng  stage, 
Still_in  his  Prime — and  much  about  my  Age, 
Imperial  Charles  (if  Robertson  says  true) 
Retiring,  bade  the  jarring  World  adieu  ! 
Thus  I,  long  honour'd  with  your  partial  Praise, 
(A  Debt  my  swelling  Heart  with  Tears  repays  ! 
— Scarce  can  I  speak — forgive  the  grateful  Pause) 
Resign  the  noblest  Triumph,  your  Applause. 
Content  with  humble  Means,  yet  proud  to  own 
I  owe  my  Pittance  to  your  Smiles  alone  ; 
To  private  Shades  I  bear  the  golden  Prize, 
The  Meed  of  Favour  in  a  Nation's  Eyes  ; 
A  Nation  brave,  and  sensible,  and  free — 
Poor  Charles  !  how  little  when  compar'd  to  me  ! 

Ill  was  that  Mind  with  sad  Retirement  pleas'd, 

The  very  Cloister  that  he  sought  he  teas'd  ; 

And  sick,  at  once,  both  of  himself  and  Peace, 

He  died  a  Martyr  to  unwelcome  Ease. 

Here  ends  the  Parallel — my  generous  Friends, 

My  Exit  no  such  tragic  Fate  attends  ; 

I  will  not  die— let  no  vain  Panic  seize  you — 

If  I  repent — I  '11  come  again  and  please  you.' 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  97 

There  were  no  two  opinions  about  Kitty  Olive's  superlative 
merit  as  a  comic  actress.  She  had  performed  over  two 
hundred  characters  at  Drury  Lane ;  and  being  ambitious  to 
make  a  figure  in  the  higher  comedy,  and  even  in  tragedy, 
she  had  sometimes  appeared,  as  Fielding  delicately  phrases 
it,  very  inferior  to  herself.  But  whenever  she  kept  clear  of 
anything  serious  or  genteel,  she  Avas  always  the  joy  of  her 
audience.  Lady  Townley,  and  other  such  characters  in  high 
comedy,  were  beyond  her ;  but  in  affected  imitations  of  the 
fine  lady  she  was  always  excellent ;  and  for  the  representa- 
tion of  country  girls,  romps,  hoydens,  dowdies,  superannu- 
ated beauties,  or  viragoes,  she  seemed,  as  Davies  says,  to 
have  been  expressly  formed  by  Nature.  She  created  a 
number  of  parts  of  which  the  author  scarcely  furnished  an 
outline ;  for,  provided  there  were  any  nature  in  it,  her  extra- 
ordinarjT^  talents  could  raise  the  merest  dramatic  trifle  to  a 
character  of  the  first  importance.  And  her  mirth,  we  are 
told,  was  so  genuine  that  '  he  must  have  been  more  or  less 
than  man  who  could  be  grave  when  Clive  was  disposed  to 
be  merry.'  Davies  roundly  declared  that  he  would  as  soon 
expect  to  see  another  Butler,  or  another  Rabelais,  or  another 
Swift,  as  another  Clive. 

Some  sixteen  years  before  her  retirement  from  the  stage, 
Horace  Walpole  had  made  Mrs.  Clive  the  tenant,  rent-free 
for  life,  of  a  house  on  his  estate  at  Twickenham,  generally 
known  as  Little  Strawberry  Hill,  but  after  her  occupation 
familiarly  termed  by  him  '  Cliveden.'  She  remained  his 
tenant  and  neighbour  for  a  further  sixteen  years  after  her 
retirement,  and  throughout  all  this  long  period  of  thirty-two 
years,  there  are  constant  references  to  her  in  his  gossipy 
letters.  In  1753,  when  sending  to  one  of  his  correspondents 
a  copy  of  Topham's  rather  abusive  paper,  The  World,  in 
which  was  an  article  supposed  to  reflect  upon  himself,  he 
says : — 

G 


98  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  I  met  Mrs.  Clive  two  nights  ago,  and  told  her  I  had  been  in 
the  meadows,  but  would  walk  there  no  more,  for  there  was  all  the 
world.  "Well,"  says  she,  "and  don't  you  like  the  World  1  I  hear 
it  was  very  clever  last  Thursday  ? " ' 

In  the  course  of  the  following  year  he  informed  Richard 
Bentley  that  his  chief  employment  at  Twickenham  was 
planting  at  Mrs.  Olive's,  whither  he  removed  all  his  super- 
abundancies.  He  had  lately  planted  the  green  lane  leading 
from  the  garden  to  the  Common,  and  when,  after  this  was 
done,  she  asked  what  they  should  call  it,  he  answered  '  What 
would  you  call  it  but  DruryLane?'  In  1757  the  Earl  of 
Radnor  left  Kitty  a  legacy  of  £50,  and  Horace  writes :  '  You 
never  saw  anything  so  droll  as  Mrs.  Clive's  countenance, 
between  the  heat  of  the  summer,  the  pride  in  her  legacy, 
and  the  efforts  to  appear  unconcerned.'  In  January  1760, 
he  reports  to  George  Montagu  an  agreeable  supper  at  Mrs. 
Clive's,  when  there  were  present  Miss  West,  his  niece,  Miss 
Cholmondeley,  Murphy,  the  actor  and  dramatist,  and  two 
or  three  more :  '  Miss  Cholmondeley  is  lively ;  you  know 
how  entertaining  the  Clive  is,  and  Miss  West  is  an  absolute 
original.'  In  September  of  the  same  3'ear  he  writes  to  the 
Earl  of  Stafford  :— 

'I  cannot  help  telling  your  lordship  how  I  was  diverted  the 
night  I  returned  hither.  I  was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Clive,  her  sister, 
and  brother,  in  the  bench  near  the  road  at  the  end  of  her  long 
walk.  We  heard  a  violent  scolding :  and  looking  out,  saw  a  pretty 
woman  standing  by  a  high  chaise,  in  which  was  a  young  fellow, 
and  a  coachman  riding  by.  The  damsel  had  lost  her  hat,  her  cap, 
her  cloak,  her  temper,  and  her  senses,  and  was  more  drunk  and 
more  angry  than  you  can  conceive.  Whatever  the  young  man  had 
or  had  not  done  to  her,  she  would  not  ride  in  the  chaise  with  him, 
but  stood  cursing  and  swearing  in  the  most  outrageous  style,  and 
when  she  had  vented  all  the  oaths  she  could  think  of,  she  at  last 
wished  perfidion  might  seize  him.  You  may  imagine  how  we 
laughed.  The  fair  intoxicate  turned  round  and  cried  "I  am 
laughed  at !    Who  is  it?    What !    Mrs.  Clive  ?    Kitty  CliAe  ?    No, 


CATHERINE  CLIYE  99 

Kitty  Clive  would  never  behave  so  !  "  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
my  neighbour's  confusion.  She  certainly  did  not  grow  paler 
than  ordinary,     I  laugh  while  I  repeat  it  to  you,' 

After  her  retirement,  Wulpole  naturally  saw  more  of  her, 
and  he  frequently  walked  with  her  in  the  meadows,  or  took 
tea  at  her  house,  or  made  one  at  her  card-parties,  John 
Taylor  remarks  that  it  seems  strange  for  a  man  of  learning 
and  elegant  taste,  such  as  Horace  Walpole,  to  have  been 
attached  to  a  woman  whose  manners  were  so  rough  and 
vulgar  as  those  of  Mrs.  Clive.  But,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
fact  that,  as  Davies  reports,  Mrs,  Clive's  company  in  private 
life  had  always  been  courted  not  only  by  men  but  also  by 
women  of  high  rank  and  character, '  to  whom  she  rendered 
herself  very  agreeable,'  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  wit, 
humour,  and  dramatic  vivacity  of  Kitty's  conversation  were 
such  as  could  not  often  be  matched  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Twickenham ;  whilst  her  various  oddities  and  somewhat 
unconventional  behaviour  only  afforded  Walpole  additional 
entertainment.  He  even  took  much  delight  in  the  society 
of  her  brother,  who  left  the  stage  about  a  year  after  she  did, 
and  was  then  taken  into  her  house  at  Strawberry  Hill ;  for 
although  Jemmy  Raftor,  as  Lord  Nuneham  reports,  was  a 
wretched  actor,  hideous  in  person  and  in  face,  and  vulgarly 
awkward  in  his  general  appearance,  he  was  also  a  man  of 
some  information,  much  observation,  with  an  extraordinary 
fund  of  original  humour,  and  in  the  art  of  telling  a  story 
absolutely  unrivalled.  One  can  imagine  how  Walpole  would 
have  laughed  for  days  afterwards,  and  what  piquant  letters 
he  would  have  written  to  some  of  his  far-away  correspondents 
about  it,  if  he  had  happened  to  be  present  at  the  card-party 
described  by  Frederick  Reynolds  the  dramatist.  Reynolds 
tells  us  that  his  grandmother,  Mrs.  West,  who  lived  in  a 
large  house  facing  Montpellier  Row,  Twickenham,  was 
'  queen  of  all  the  card-players  of  that  card-playing  place.' 


100  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Four  old  maids  of  Montpellier  Row,  who  were  better  known 
as  '  Manille/  '  Spadille,'  '  Basto,'  and  '  Punto,'  than  by  their 
own  proper  names,  were  his  grandmother's  principal  sub- 
jects. Every  night  these  ladies  assembled  at  one  another's 
houses  in  rotation,  and  on  the  first  of  every  month  each  took 
her  turn  to  give  a  grand  party.  On  New  Year's  Day,  1772, 
a  fete  of  more  than  usual  splendour  was  given  by  Mrs.  West, 
the  principal  attraction  of  which  was  the  celebrated  Mrs. 
Clive. 

'Owing  to  her  amazing  celebrity  as  a  comic  actress,  and  as, 
dnrino-  her  theatrical  career,  calumny  itself  had  never  aimed  the 
slightest  arrow  at  her  fame,  honest  Kitty  Clive  (for  so  she  was 
familiarly  called)  was  much  noticed  in  the  neighbourhood.  Yet 
from  her  eccentric  disposition,  strange,  uncertain  temper,  and 
frank,  blunt  manner,  Mrs.  Clive  did  not  always  go  off  with  quite 
so  much  Mat  in  private  as  in  pul^lic  life ;  particularly  if  she  hap- 
pened to  be  crossed  by  that  touchstone  of  temper,  gaming.' 

The  future  dramatist,  an  observant  and  mischievous 
urchin  of  seven  or  eight,  was  greatly  impressed  by  the 
stately  dulness  and  formality  of  this  antiquated  party. 
'  Manille,'  '  Spadille,'  '  Basto,'  '  Punto,'  and  the  rest  of  the 
o-uests,  with  huge  caps  on  their  little  heads,  rouged  faces, 
white  wigs,  compressed  waists,  extended  hips,  and  limping 
gaits,  after  sipping  their  tea,  exchanging  superfluous  inform- 
ation about  the  weather,  congratulating  one  another  on  their 
good  looks,  and  so  forth,  at  length  proceeded  to  the  serious 
business  of  the  evening. 

'  Quadrille  was  proposed,  and  all  immediately  took  their  stations, 
cither  as  players  or  betters.  Impelled  by  my  dramatic  propensity, 
I  stationed  myself  close  to  Mrs.  Clive.  ...  It  did  not  require 
much  discrimination  or  knowledge  of  the  game  to  discover  the 
loser  from  the  winner.  I  soon  observed  Mrs.  dive's  countenance 
alternately  redden  and  turn  pale;  while  her  antagonist  vainly 
attempted  the  suppression  of  a  satisfaction  that  momentarily 
betrayed  itself  in  the  curling  corners  of  her  ugly  mouth,  and  in 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  101 

the  twinkling  of  her  piggish  eyes.  At  this  sight,  Mrs.  Clive's 
spleen  was  redoubled.  At  last  her  Manille  went,  and  with  it 
the  remains  of  her  temper.  Her  face  was  of  a  universal  crimson, 
and  tears  of  rage  seemed  ready  to  start  into  her  eyes.  At  that 
very  moment,  as  Satan  would  have  it,  her  opponent,  a  dowager, 
whose  hoary  head  and  eyebrows  were  as  white  as  those  of  an 
Albiness,  triumphantly  and  briskly  demanded  payment  for  two 
black  aces.  "Two  black  aces  !"  answered  the  enraged  loser,  in  a 
voice  rendered  almost  unintelligible  by  passion,  "  here,  take  the 
money ;  though  I  wish  instead  I  could  give  you  two  black  eyes,  you 
old  white  cat !  " ' 

He  goes  on  to  say  that  Mrs.  Clive  accompanied  her  words 
with  such  a  threatening  gesture  that  the  stately,  starched 
old  lady,  who,  in  her  eagerness  to  receive  her  winnings  had 
half  risen  from  her  chair,  fell  back  again  as  if  she  had  been 
shot,  and  sat  fixed  and  gasping  for  some  moments,  with  open 
mouth  and  closed  eyes.  The  other  guests  were  so  startled 
as  to  be  momently  arrested  in  their  various  occupations — 
one  lady's  hand  stuck  midway  between  her  snuff-box  and 
her  nose ;  '  Basto,'  who  had  turned  the  cock  of  a  lemonade 
urn,  stood  vacantly  staring  while  the  fluid  overflowed  her 
glass  on  to  the  floor — then  young  Frederick  could  contain 
himself  no  longer,  and  burst  out  into  such  a  loud  and  un- 
controllable fit  of  laughter,  that  his  grandmother  promptly 
turned  him  out  of  the  room,  and  he  saw  no  more. 

Mrs.  Clive's  correspondence  with  Garrick  after  her  re- 
tirement is  more  amicable,  but  by  no  means  less  amusing, 
than  that  concerned  with  their  bickerings  while  she  was 
on  the  stage.  In  January  1774  she  wrote  to  beg  his  interest 
in  favour  of  the  son  of  a  neighbour  named  Crofts,  who 
wished  to  get  into  the  Excise,  beginning  her  letter:  'I 
should  suppose  when  you  see  Twickenham,  you  will  not 
presently  imagine  whom  the  letter  can  come  from,  you 
have  so  entirely  forgot  me,'  and  informing  him,  amongst 
other  things,  that — '  I  might  date  this  letter  from  the  Ark : 


102  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

we  are  so  surrounded  with  water  that  it  is  impossible  for 
any  carriage  to  come  to  me,  or  for  me  to  stir  out,  so  that 
at  present  my  heavenly  place  is  a  little  devilish.'  And 
when  Garrick  replied,  wanting  to  know  more  about  young 
Crofts  before  attempting  to  further  his  interests,  that  very 
natural  inquiry  produced  the  following  characteristic 
epistle : — 

'Wonderful  Sir,— Who   have  been  for  these   thirty   years 
contradicting  an  old-established  proverb— you  cannot  make  a  brick 
without  straw  ;  but  you  have  done  what  is  infinitely  more  difficult, 
for  you  have  made  actors  and  actresses  without  genius ;  that  is, 
you  have  made  them  pass  for  such,  which  has  answered  your  end, 
though  it  has  given  you  infinite  trouble :— you  never  took  much 
with  yourself,  for  you  could  not  help  acting  well,  therefore  I  do 
not  think  you  have  much  merit  in  that ;  though,  to  be  sure,  it  has 
been  very  amusing  to  yourself,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  world, 
for,  while  you  are  laughing  at  your  own  conceits,  you  were  at  the 
same  time  sure  they  would  cram  your  iron  chests.     What  has  put 
this  fancy  into  my  head  was  your  desiring  a  good  character  of 
young  Crofts.     It  is  a  sad  thing,  some  people  say,  that  such  a 
paltry  being  as  an  exciseman  cannot  get  his  bread  unless  he  has 
behaved  well  in  the  world ;  and  yet  it  is  so  perfectly  right,  that  if 
everybody  would  have  the  same  caution  not  to  give  good  char- 
acters, nor  receive  people  into  your  family  for  servants,  or  any 
kind  of  business,  who  had  them  not, — if  this  was  made  an  unalter- 
able rule,  the  world  must  in  time  become  all  good  sort  of  people. 
I  send  the  enclosed   [presumably  a  testimonial],  which  may  be 
depended  on.     Mr.  Costard  is  our  rector,  one  of  the  most  learned 
and  best  of  men  in  the  world :  they  say  he  has  more  knowledge 
in  the  stars,  and  amongst  all  the  sky-people,  than  anybody,  so 
that  most  of  us  take  him  for  a  conjuror ' 

If  young  Crofts  did  not  get  his  Excisemanship  after  that, 
then  there  is  no  virtue  in  the  most  skilful  mixture  of 
acute  nonsense  and  'soft  soap.'  In  January  1776  it  Avas 
reported  that  the  English  Roscius  contemplated  retiring 
from  the  stage;  and  Kitty  then  wrote  him  a  long  letter, 
which  was   endorsed   by   the   recipient:  'My  Pivy,   excel- 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  103 

lent!'   and  of  which  the  following  are  the  most  material 
parts : — 

'  Is  it  really  true  that  you  have  put  an  end  to  the  glory  of 
Drury  Lane  theatre  1  if  it  is  so  let  me  congratulate  my  dear  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Garrick  on  their  approaching  happiness.  I  know  what 
it  will  be ;  you  cannot  yet  have  an  idea  of  it ;  but  if  you  should 
still  be  so  wicked  not  to  be  satisfied  with  that  unbounded,  un- 
common degree  of  fame  you  have  received  as  an  actor,  and  which 
no  other  actor  ever  did  receive — nor  no  other  actor  ever  can 
receive — I  say,  if  you  should  still  long  to  be  dipping  your  fingers 
in  their  theatrical  pudding  (now  without  plums),  you  will  be  no 
Garrick  for  the  Pivy.  .  .  .' 

Then,  after  a  long  eulogy  of  him  on  account  of  things 
which  she  knew  of,  she  says,  though  the  public  did  not,  the 
letter  proceeds : — 

'  While  I  was  under  your  control  I  did  not  say  half  the  fine 
things  I  thought  of  you,  because  it  looked  like  flattery ;  and  you 
know  your  Pivy  was  always  proud :  besides,  I  thought  you  did 
not  like  me  then ;  but  now  I  am  sure  you  do,  which  makes  me 
send  you  this  letter.  What  a  strange  jumble  of  people  they  have 
put  in  the  papers  as  the  purchasers  of  the  patent !  I  thought  I 
should  have  died  with  laughing  when  I  saw  a  man-midwife 
amongst  them  :  I  suppose  they  have  taken  him  to  prevent  mis- 
carriages !  .  .  .' 

And  this  fine  friendly  letter  ends  with  a  fine,  friendly  (and 
also  diplomatic)  appeal  on  behalf  of  Miss  Pope,  who,  from 
her  first  coming  out  had  been  a  favourite  of  Kitty's,  and 
who  was  then  disengaged  in  consequence  of  a  dispute  with 
the  Drury  Lane  managers  about  salary : — 

'  Now  let  me  say  one  word  about  my  poor,  unfortunate  friend 
Miss  Pope.  I  know  how  much  she  disobliged  you  ;  and  if  I  had 
been  in  your  place  I  believe  I  should  have  acted  just  as  you  did. 
But  by  this  time  I  hope  you  have  forgot  your  resentment,  and 
Avill  look  upon  her  late  behaviour  as  having  been  taken  with  a 
dreadful  fit  of  vanity,  which  for  that  time  took  her  senses  from 
her,  and  having  been  tutored  by  an  affected  beast,  who  helped  to 


104    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

turn  her  head ;  but  pray  recollect  her  in  the  other  light,  a  faith- 
ful creature  to  you,  on  whom  you  could  always  depend,  certainly 
a  good  actress,  amiable  in  her  character,  both  in  her  heing  a  very 
modest  women,  and  very  good  to  her  family ;  and  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  has  the  greatest  regard  for  you.  Now,  my  dear  Mr. 
Garrick,  I  hope  it  is  not  yet  too  late  to  re-instate  her  before  you 
quit  your  affairs  there  ;  I  beg  it,  I  entreat  it ;  I  shall  look  upon  it  as 
the  greatest  favour  you  can  confer  on — Your  ever  obliged  friend, 

'C.  Clive.' 

Miss  Pope  was  re-instated ;  and  a  month  or  so  later  Kitty 
writes :  '  I  suppose  you  have  had  a  long  letter  of  thanks 
from  Miss  Pope.  I  have  had  one  from  her  all  over  trans- 
port. I  feel  vast  happiness  about  that  affair,  and  shall  ever 
remember  it  as  a  great  obligation  you  have  conferred  on 
your  Pivy  Clive.'  The  letter  from  which  the  following  passage 
is  extracted  was  endorsed  by  Garrick — '  Pivy's  letter  about 
Miss  More ' — Hannah  More  being  meant.  It  was  headed 
by  the  writer  with  two  lines  of  verse  which,  if  not  a  speci- 
men of  original  composition,  are  at  any  rate  a  fearful  and 
wonderful  specimen  of  original  spelling : — 

'  0  Jealousey,  thou  raiging  pain 
Where  shall  I  find  my  piece  againe.' 

After  this,  the  letter  goes  on — 

'  I  am  in  a  great  fuss.  Pray  what  is  the  meaning  of  a  quarter 
of  a  hundred  of  the  Miss  Moors  purring  about  you  with  their 
poems,  and  plays,  and  romancies  ;  what,  is  the  Pivy  to  be  roused, 
and  I  don't  understand  it.  Mrs.  Garrick  has  been  so  good  to  say 
she  would  spare  me  a  little  corner  of  your  heart,  and  I  can  tell 
the  Miss  Moors  they  shall  not  have  one  morsel  of  it.  JFhat  I  do 
they  pretend  to  take  it  by  force  of  lines.  If  that 's  the  case,  I 
shall  write  such  verses  as  shall  make  them  stare  againe,  and  send 
them  to  Bristol  with  a  flea  in  their  ear !  .  .  .' 

Two  years  later,  she  found  occasion  to  expostulate  with 
him  for  his  neglect  of  her.  Dating  from  Twickenham,  the 
22nd  of  March  1778,  she  writes:— 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  105 

'  There  is  no  such  being  now  in  the  world  as  Fivy ;  she  has  been 
killed  by  the  cruelty  of  the  Garrick ;  but  the  Clive  (thank  God)  is 
still  alive,  and  alive  like  to  be,  and  did  intend  to  call  you  to  a  severe 
account  for  your  wicked  behaviour  to  her ;  but  having  been  told  of 
your  good  deeds,  and  great  achievements,  I  concluded  you  was  in  too 
much  conceit  with  yourself  to  listen  to  my  complaints ;  and  would 
pay  no  more  regard  to  my  remonstrances  than  the  King  does  to 
my  Lord  Mayor's,  and  therefore  the  best  thing  I  could  do  would  be 
to  change  my  anger  into  compliment  and  congratulations.  .  .  . 
The  country  is  very  dull ;  we  have  not  twenty  people  in  the 
village  ;  but  still  it  is  better  than  London.  .  .  .' 

This  put  Garrick  on  his  mettle ;  and  he  answered,  dating 
from  his  house  at  Hampton,  in  the  following  very  pretty 
strain : — 

'  My  Dear  Pivy, — Had  not  the  nasty  bile,  which  so  often  con- 
fines me,  and  has  heretofore  tormented  you,  kept  me  at  home,  I 
should  have  been  at  your  feet  three  days  ago.  If  your  heart 
(somewhat  combustible  like  my  own)  has  played  off  all  the  squibs 
and  rockets  which  lately  occasioned  a  little  cracking  and  bouncing 
about  me,  and  can  receive  again  the  more  gentle  and  pleasing 
firework  of  love  and  friendship,  I  shall  be  with  you  at  six  this 
evening,  to  revive,  by  the  help  of  those  spirits  in  your  tea-kettle 
lamp,  that  flame  which  was  almost  blown  out  by  the  flouncing  of 
your  petticoat  when  my  name  was  mentioned. 

'  Tea  is  a  sovereign  balm  for  wounded  love.'  Will  you  permit 
me  to  try  the  poet's  recipe  this  evening  1  Can  my  Pivy  know  so 
little  of  me  to  think  that  I  prefer  the  clack  of  Lords  and  Ladies  to 
the  enjoyment  of  humour  and  genius  1  I  reverence  most  sincerely 
your  friend  and  neighbour  [Horace  Walpole],  not  because  he  is  the 
son  of  one  of  the  first  of  first  ministers,  but  because  he  is  himself  one 
of  first  ministers  of  literature.  In  short,  your  misconception  about 
that  fatal  chmnpatra  (the  devil  take  the  word !)  has  made  me  so 
cross  about  everything  that  belongs  to  it,  that  I  curse  all  squibs, 
crackers,  rockets,  air-baloons,  mines,  serpents,  and  Catherine- 
wheels,  and  can  think  of  nothing  and  wish  for  nothing,  but  laugh, 
gig,  humour,  fun,  pun,  conundrum,  carriwitchet,  and  Catherine 
Clive  !     I  am  ever,  my  Pivy's  most  constant  and  loving, 

'David  Garrick, 

'My  wife  sends  her  love,  and  will  attend  the  ceremony  this 
evening.' 


106  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

One  of  Kitty's  neighbours  at  Twickenham  was  Dr.  John- 
son's '  unchibbable '  friend,  Sir  John  Hawkins ;  and  when  Sir 
John's  daughter,  that  rather  tart  old  maid  Laetitia,  put 
together  some  of  her  reminiscences  in  1822,  she  had  a  few, 
not  over  friendly,  remarks  to  make  about  Mrs.  Clive,  whose 
memory,  she  says,  still  survived  in  the  place,  and  who,  '  I 
believe  by  her  agreeable,  or  rather  diverting  society,  paid 
rent  for  what  is  called  Little  Strawberry  Hill.'  Miss  Haw- 
kins notes  it  as  a  virtue  which,  she  thinks,  on  account  of  Mrs. 
Olive's  manners  in  private,  and  cast  of  characters  in  public, 
will  perhaps  not  be  readily  credited  to  her,  that  she  practised 
total  abstinence  from  all  spirituous  liquors.  She  once 
boasted  to  a  neighbour,  it  appears,  that  she  could  say  more 
than  most  players,  namely,  that  she  had  never  kept  any  of 
those  exhilarating  resources  in  her  house.  Miss  Hawkins 
also  records  that  when  Mrs.  Clive  called  at  their  house  one 
day,  and  her  mother  ran  out  to  the  carriage  to  say  that  the 
small-pox  had  broken  out  in  the  family,  the  latter  lady  was 
much  offended  because  the  former  seemed  to  have  no  ap- 
preciation of  such  a  delicate  attention,  and  merely  remarked  : 
'  It  was  not  you  I  wanted  to  see ;  it  was  your  husband ; 
send  him  out.'  Another  reply,  more  forcible  than  polite,  is 
recorded  to  have  been  made  to  '  two  very  decent  and  re- 
spectful men  then  in  office  as  surveyors  of  the  roads  in  the 
parish,'  who  were  sent  to  Mrs.  Clive  by  Sir  John  Hawkins, 
the  acting  magistrate  of  the  place,  to  demand  payment  of 
certain  rates.  She  bluntly  said — '  By  the  living  God,  I  will 
not  pay  it.'  This  was  probably  in  December  1773,  when  from 
a  letter  of  Walpole's  to  Lord  Nuneham  it  a^jpears  that  Kitty 
was  altogether  '  on  the  rampage  ' ;  for  Horace  remarks  : — 

'  Except  being  extremely  ill,  Mrs.  Clive  is  extremely  well ;  but 
the  tax-gatherer  is  gone  off",  and  she  must  pay  her  window-lights 
over  again  ;  and  the  road  before  her  door  is  very  bad,  and  the 
parish  won't  mend  it,  and  there  is  some  suspicion  that  Garrick  is 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  107 

at  the  bottom  of  it.  .  .  .  The  papers  said  she  was  to  act  at  Covent 
Garden,  and  she  has  printed  a  very  proper  answer  in  the  Evening 
Post: 

The  only  intelligence  of  her  after  this  date  is  what  can  be 
gleaned  from  Walpole's  letters.  Sometimes  he  records  a 
joke  against  her,  as  in  the  remark  :  '  My  Lady  Townshend, 
in  the  days  of  her  wit,  said  that  Mrs.  Olive's  face  rose  on 
Strawberry  Hill  and  made  it  sultry;  but  I  assure  you,  you 
may  sit  now  in  her  beams  when  she  is  in  her  zenith  without 
being  tanned.'  Sometimes  it  is  a  good  thing  of  her  own ; 
as: — 

'  My  Lady  Shelburne  has  taken  a  house  here,  and  it  has  pro- 
duced a  hon  mot  from  Mrs.  Clive.  You  know  my  Lady  Sufiblk  is 
deaf,  and  I  have  talked  much  of  a  charming  old  passion  [Madame 
du  DefFand]  I  have  at  Paris,  who  is  blind.  "  Well,"  said  the  Clive, 
"  if  the  new  Countess  is  but  lame,  I  shall  have  no  chance  of  ever 
seeing  you  !  "  ' 

In  1778  he  chronicles  that  'poor  Mrs.  Clive  has  been  robbed 
again  in  her  own  lane,  as  she  was  last  year,  and  got  the 
jaundice,  she  thinks,  with  the  fright.'  He  never  makes  a 
visit,  he  remarks,  without  a  blunderbuss ;  and,  indeed,  some- 
thing of  the  kind  seems  to  have  been  very  necessary,  for 
he  reports  further  highway  robberies,  and  once  that  Mrs. 
Olive's  house  was  burgled.  In  the  summer  of  1782  she  had 
an  illness,  and  seemed  in  a  very  declining  condition ;  but  by 
the  autumn  he  reports  her  as  really  recovered,  and  partak- 
ing of  the  diversions  of  the  '  Carnival,'  which  at  Twickenham 
commenced  at  Michaelmas,  and  lasted  as  long  as  there  were 
four  persons  left  to  make  a  pool.    In  September  he  writes : — 

'  Nobody  dares  stir  out  of  their  own  house.  We  are  robbed  and 
murdered  if  we  do  but  step  over  the  threshold  to  the  chandler's 
shop  for  a  pennyworth  of  plums.  .  .  .  Dame  Clive  is  the  only 
heroine  amongst  all  us  old  dowagers :  she  is  so  much  recovered 
that  she  ventures  to  go  out  cruising  on  all  the  neighbours,  and  has 
made  a  miraculous  draught  of  fishes '  :  i.e.,  a  great  haul  at  cards. 


108  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

She  occasionally  had  some  of  her  old  theatrical  friends  to 
visit  her.  Once  when  Quin  came  to  stay  a  few  days,  and 
had  walked  round  to  inspect  her  garden,  she  asked  him  if  he 
had  seen  her  pond — which  must  have  been  a  very  dimmu- 
tive  piece  of  water.  '  Yes,  Kate,'  said  he,  '  I  have  seen  your 
basin,  but  did  not  see  a  wash-ball'  Her  protegee,  Miss  Pope, 
was  a  frequent  visitor,  usually  spending  a  month  with  her 
during  the  summer  recess.  She  told  Horace  Smith  that 
Horace  Walpole  often  came  to  drink  tea  with  them  in  Mrs. 
dive's  cottage,  and  that  he  could  be  very  pleasant.  'In 
what  way  ? '  asked  Smith ;  and  Miss  Pope  ingenuously 
replied :  '  Oh,  very  sna^-ling  and  sarcastic'  Sarcastic  he 
may  have  been;  but  in  all  his  correspondence  there  is  no 
trace  of  anything  resembling  a  snarl  at  Kitty  Clive.  On 
December  14,  1785,  eight  days  after  her  death,  he  wrote 
from  his  house  in  Berkeley  Square  to  Lady  Broome : — 

'  My  poor  old  friend  is  a  great  loss  :  but  it  did  not  much  sur- 
prise me.  I  had  played  at  cards  with  her  at  Mrs.  Gostling's  three 
nights  before  I  came  to  town,  and  found  her  extremely  confused, 
and  not  knowing  what  she  did :  indeed  I  perceived  something  of 
the  sort  before,  and  had  found  her  much  broken  this  autumn, 
It  seems  that  the  clay  after  I  saw  her  she  went  to  General  Lister's 
burial,  and  got  cold,  and  had  been  ill  for  two  or  three  days.  On 
the  Wednesday  morning  she  rose  to  have  her  bed  made,  and  while 
sitting  on  the  bed,  with  her  maid  by  her,  sunk  down  at  once,  and 
died  without  a  pang  or  a  groan.' 

After  her  death,  Walpole  set  up  an  urn  in  the  garden  of 

Little  Strawberry  Hill,  with  the  following  inscription  to  her 

memory : — 

'  Ye  smiles  and  jests  still  hover  round  ; 
This  is  Mirth's  consecrated  ground. 
Here  lived  the  laughter-loving  dame, 
A  matchless  actress,  Clive  her  name. 
The  Comic  Muse  with  her  retired. 
And  shed  a  tear  when  she  expired.' 

She  was  buried  in  the  old  church  at  Twickenham,  on  the 


CATHERINE  CLIVE  109 

outside  wall  of  which  Miss  Pope  set  up  a  plain  tablet  to  her 
memory. 

Although  the  Comic  Muse  did  not  permanently  retire 
with  Mrs.  Clive,  she  has,  perhaps,  in  her  peculiar  walk,  never 
been  rivalled.  And  she  appears  to  have  been  almost  as 
entertaining  off  the  stage  as  on.  Her  want  of  culture  has 
sometimes  been  commented  on.  But  she  had  what  is  far 
superior  to  ordinary  culture,  namely,  a  vigorous  and  original 
genius.  Dr.  Johnson  said  of  her :  '  Clive,  sir,  is  a  good  thing 
to  sit  by,  she  always  understands  what  you  say.'  And  she 
said  of  him :  '  I  love  to  sit  by  Dr.  Johnson,  he  always  enter- 
tains me.'  But  though  good  to  sit  by  occasionally,  she  was 
probably  by  no  means  an  easy  person  to  live  with  —  as  we 
may  presume  that  very  learned  and  intelligent  man,  George 
Clive,  barrister,  soon  found  out.  But  Tate  Wilkinson  vouches 
for  her  unostentatious  generosity ;  and  Henry  Fielding  de- 
clared that  her  sense  of  honour,  good-nature,  and  good  sense, 
joined  to  the  most  entertaining  humour,  begot,  in  him  at  any 
rate,  the  sincerest  friendship. 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON 

The  name  of  Peg  Woffington  is  better  known  to  the  modem 
reader  than  that  of  any  other  eighteenth  century  actress : 
whether  her  character  be  equally  well  known  is  altogether 
another  matter.  The  familiarity  of  the  name  is  due  to 
that  admirable  novelist,  Charles  Reade,  who  in  1852  not 
only  took  this  beautiful  actress  for  the  heroine  of  one  of  his 
popular  stories,  but  also  took  her  name  for  the  title  of  the 
book.  The  historical  novelist  is  usually  allowed— or,  at  any 
rate,  usually  allows  himself— considerable  licence  as  regards 
dates,  events,  and  even  characters.  And,  so  long  as  the 
reader  understands  that  the  work  is  to  be  taken  as  mere 
fiction,  that  does  not  very  much  matter.  But  in  the  case 
of  Peg  Woffington,  Charles  Reade  went  somewhat  further. 
He  beheved  that  his  heroine  had  been  '  falsely  summed  up,' 
and  put  forth  his  novel  as  a  vindication  of  her  character, 
solemnly  dedicating  it,  as  such,  to  her  memory.  It  is  a 
capital  illustration  of  the  power  of  fiction  to  overlay  truth. 
In  1760,  shortly  after  her  death,  there  appeared  a  little  book 
of  sixty  pages,  entitled  Memoirs  of  the  Celebrated  Mrs. 
Woffington,  which,  though  by  no  means  free  from  faults 
and  mistakes,  was  evidently  well  received  by  a  public  which 
knew  the  lady,  for  it  passed  into  a  second  edition  within 
the  year.  For  a  hundred  and  twenty-four  years  after  this 
nobody  had  the  courage  to  attempt  another  biography  of 
such  a  person.  But  in  1884  Mr.  Fitzgerald  Molloy  published 
a  fanciful  and  fictitious,  though  professedly  biographical  work, 
entitled  The  Life  and  Advemttires  of  Peg  Woffington,  which 

110 


MARGARET  WOFFTNGTON  111 

was  evidently  inspired  and  dominated  by  Charles  Reade's 
misconception  of  her  character.  And  four  years  later  Mr. 
Augiistin  Daly  of  New  York,  powerfully  acted  upon  by  the 
same  influence,  produced  and  printed  for  private  circulation 
a  sumptuous  and  splendidly  illustrated  biography  of  the 
fascinating  lady,  which  the  Dictionary  of  National  Bio- 
graphy laments  is  '  unfortunately  inaccessible  to  the  general 
public'  Mr.  Molloy's  book  may  be  put  aside  without  further 
examination,  on  the  ground  that  one  hardly  knows  whether 
it  is  intended  as  a  romantic  biography  or  a  biographical 
romance.  But  with  regard  to  the  representations  of  Charles 
Reade  and  Augustin  Daly,  an  examination  of  all  the  extant 
contemporary  records  plainly  shows  that  the  first  must  have, 
Pygmalion-like,  fallen  in  love  with  his  own  creation,  which 
he  afterwards  imagined  to  be  the  real  person ;  and  that  the 
second  was  driven  to  sift  and  winnow  and  alter  the  evidence 
in  order  to  fashion  the  real  woman  into  the  likeness  of  the 
novelist's  heroine. 

Margaret  Woffington  is  said  te  have  been  born  in  Dublin, 
in  1720  according  to  the  inscription  on  her  tombstone  at 
Teddington;  in  1718  according  to  Mr.  Daly ;  and  probably 
four  or  five  years  earlier,  according  to  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography.  From  the  Memoir  of  her  published 
in  1760  (on  which,  little  as  one  might  think  it,  all  subse- 
quent notices  are  founded),  we  learn  that  her  father  was  a 
journeyman  bricklayer,  honest  and  sober,  but  desperately 
poor,  and  with  so  strong  a  prejudice  against  the  medical 
profession  that  when  he  fell  ill  of  a  fever  he  refused  to  have 
a  doctor.  He  was  getting  better  without  medical  aid  when 
his  wife,  seeing  a  physician  passing  the  door  in  his  gilded 
coach,  called  the  learned  man  in  to  relieve  her  own  anxiety. 
He  assured  her  that  her  husband  was  progressing  favourably 
and  would  be  quite  well  in  the  course  of  a  few  days ;  but 
after  a  few  days  of  the  doctor's  treatment  poor  Woffington 


112    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

died.  He  was  buried  by  the  parish,  and  left  his  widow  with 
two  children  and  encumbered  with  debt.  For  a  time  the 
mother  supported  herself  and  her  children  by  taking  in 
washing.  Then,  presumably  by  the  aid  of  friends,  she  was 
enabled  to  open  a  huckster's  shop  on  Ormonde  Quay ;  but 
this  soon  failed ;  and  she  took  to  hawking  fruit  and  water- 
cress about  the  streets.  Lee  Lewes  says  in  his  Memoirs 
that  for  some  years  she  earned  a  scanty  livelihood  for  herself 
and  two  daughters  in  this  way, '  with  the  youngest  (after- 
wards the  Hon.  Mrs.  Cholmondeley)  on  her  breast,  and 
Peggy,  the  charming,  lovely  Peggy,  trotting  by  her  side.' 

'  I  have  met  with  more  than  one  in  Dublin  who  assured  me  that 
they  remembered  to  have  seen  the  lovely  Peggy,  with  a  little  dish 
upon  her  hand,  and  without  shoes  to  cover  her  delicate  feet,  crying 
through  College  Green,  Dame  Street,  and  other  parts  of  the  town, 
"  All  this  fine  young  sallad  for  a  halfpenny— all  for  a  halfpenny — 
all  a  halfpenny  here  ! " ' 

In  1727,  according  to  Hitchcock's  Historical  View  of  the 
Irish  Stage,  Madame  Violante,  a  capital  dancer,  rented  a  large 
house,  with  a  spacious  garden,  in  Fowne's  Court,  which  she 
converted  into  a  commodious  booth,  and  brought  over  a 
company  of  tumblers  and  rope-dancers,  who  exhibited  there 
for  some  time  with  success.  When  the  public  tired  of  her 
tumblers,  she  converted  the  booth  into  a  play-house,  and 
performed  both  plays  and  operas.  And  when  her  actors 
proved  a  bad  and  unattractive  lot,  Madame  Violante,  who 
was  a  woman  of  many  resources,  formed  a  company  of  chil- 
dren, all  under  ten  years  of  age,  who  became  known  as  the 
Lilliputian  Troupe.  Amongst  other  things,  they  performed 
TJce  Beggars  Opera,  which  had  not  previously  been  seen  in 
Dublin,  and  which  drew  crowded  houses.  Many  of  these 
children,  says  Hitchcock,  afterwards  became  actors  and 
actresses  of  distinction,  but  the  most  distinguished  of  them 
all  was  Peg  Woffington,  who  in  The  Beggars  Opera  played 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  113 

the  part  of  Polly.  In  1730  Madame  Violante  removed  to 
more  commodious  premises  in  George's  Lane,  with  her 
Lilliputian  troupe  in  great  estimation.  Lee  Lewes  tells  us 
that  Madame  Violante  perceived  the  bent  of  Margaret's 
genius,  and  instructed  her  in  several  other  ballad-farcical 
parts ;  and  that  Mr.  Charles  Coffey,  author  of  The  Beggars 
Wedding,  and  other  humorous  poems,  took  much  notice  of 
her,  and  carefully  taught  her  every  applauded  stroke  he 
had  noticed  in  the  performance  by  Miss  Raftor  (afterwards 
Mrs.  Clive)  of  the  part  of  Nell  in  The  Devil  to  Pay.  Coffey 
then  recommended  her  strongly  to  Thomas  Elrington, 
manager  of  the  Aungier  Street  Theatre,  where  she  was  at 
first  employed  to  dance  between  the  acts ;  and  then,  accord- 
ing to  Lee  Lewes,  notwithstanding  her  extreme  youth,  was 
put  on  for  womanly  characters,  such  as  Mrs.  Peachum, 
Mother  Midnight  in  the  Twin  Rivals,  and  other  parts 
which  required  humour  in  the  performance  of  them.  Hitch- 
cock says  that  Ophelia  in  Hamlet  was  her  first  speaking 
part  on  that  stage,  which  she  acted  in  February  1736-7 ; 
and  that  she  first  attracted  much  notice  as  an  actress  in 
the  winter  of  1739.     She  then,  he  says, 

'began  to  unveil  those  beauties,  and  display  those  graces  and 
accomplishments  which  for  so  many  years  afterwards  charmed 
mankind.  Her  ease,  elegance,  and  simplicity,  as  Polly  in  The 
Beggar's  0;pera,  with  the  natural  manner  of  her  singing  the  songs, 
pleased  much.  Her  girls  were  esteemed  excellent,  and  her  Miss 
Lucy  in  The  Virgin  Unmasked  brought  houses.  But  she  never 
displayed  herself  to  more  advantage  than  in  characters  where  she 
assumed  the  other  sex.  Her  figure,  which  was  a  model  of  per- 
fection, then  free  from  restraints,  appeared  in  its  natural  form. 
One  of  the  first  occasions  she  had  to  exhibit  it  was  at  her  own 
benefit,  when  she  played  Phillis  in  The  Conscious  Lovers,  and  the 
Female  Officer,  in  a  farce  of  that  name,  with  great  reputation.' 

In  April  1740,  being  already  held  in  high  estimation,  she 
appeared  for  the  first  time  as  Sir  Harry  Wildair  in  Far- 

H 


114  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

quhar's  Constant  Couple,  '  by  desire  of  several  persons  of 
quality,'  when  she  charmed  the  town  to  an  uncommon 
degree.  One  enthusiastic  poet  broke  out  into  verse  in  the 
following  strain : — 

'  That  excellent  Peg  ! 
Who  showed  such  a  leg 
When  lately  she  dressed  in  men's  clothes — 
A  creature  uncommon, 
Who 's  both  man  and  woman, 
The  chief  of  the  belles  and  the  beaux  ! ' 

Her  beauty  was  extolled  on  all  hands;  but  the  only  detailed 
description  of  her  is  the  following  by  the  author  of  the 
Memoirs  of  1760  : — 

'  Her  eyes  were  black  as  jet,  and  while  tliey  beamed  with  ineffable 
lustre,  at  the  same  time  revealed  all  the  sentiments  of  her  heart, 
and  showed  that  native  good  sense  .  .  .  resided  in  their  fair 
possessor.  Her  eyebrows  were  full  and  arched,  and  had  a  peculiar 
property  of  inspiring  love  or  striking  terror.  .  .  .  Her  cheeks 
were  vermillioned  with  Nature's  best  rouge  .  .  .  and  outvied  all 
the  laboured  works  of  art.  Her  nose  was  somewhat  of  the  aquiline, 
and  gave  her  a  look  full  of  majesty  and  dignity.  Her  lips  were 
of  the  colour  of  coral,  and  softness  of  down ;  and  her  mouth  dis- 
played such  beauties  as  would  thaw  the  very  bosom  of  an  anchorite. 
.  ,  .  Her  teeth  were  white  and  even.  .  .  .  Her  hair  was  of  a  bright 
auburn  colour.  .  .  .  Her  whole  form  was  beauteous  to  excess.' 

Hitchcock,  writing  as  the  historian  of  the  Irish  stage,  has 
nothing  to  say  about  the  private  lives  of  the  players.  But 
the  author  of  the  little  Memoirs  of  1760  tells  us  that  although 
Peg  received  a  salary  of  thirty  shillings  a  week,  which  was 
then  considered  high  pay,  she  was  not  content  with  this,  and 
adopted  other  methods  of  adding  to  her  income.  An  in- 
fatuated swain  swore  that  if  she  did  not  return  his  love  he 
would  hang,  drown,  or  shoot  himself;  and  in  order  not  to 
be  responsible  for  such  a  suicide  she  consented  to  live  with 
him  for  a  time.  Then  there  came  along  a  gentleman  with 
money,  who  purchased  her  love. 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  115 

'A  next  presented  and  outbid  the  former.  Another  offered 
and  she  received  him  in  her  train.  A  fifth  appeared  and  was  well 
received.  A  sixth  declared  his  suit,  and  his  suit  was  not  rejected. 
In  a  word,  a  multitude  of  love's  votaries  paid  their  adorations  to 
the  shrine  of  their  fair  saint,  and  their  fair  saint  was  not  cruel.' 

The  last  to  present  himself  (in  Dublin)  was  '  the  famous 

T d  T fe,'  who  drove  all  the  others  away.     It  was 

with  this  lover  that  she  left  Dublin  for  London.  But  she 
had  not  been  long  in  the  English  capital  before  she  began 
to  hanker  after  the  plaudits  of  the  stage,  and  her  lover, 
who  seems  by  this  time  to  have  had  a  matrimonial  pro- 
ject in  view,  readily  consented  to  her  seeking  a  London 
engagement.  But  she  had  to  make  nineteen  visits  to 
manager  Rich,  of  Covent  Garden,  before  she  succeeded  in 
obtaining  an  interview.  We  are  told  that  on  the  nineteenth 
occasion  she  told  the  footman  in  disgust  that  her  name  was 
Woffington,  but  that  she  would  wait  on  his  master  no  more 
On  hearing  her  name  for  the  first  time,  the  footman  asked 
her  to  wait  one  moment,  darted  away  as  quick  as  hght- 
ning,  and  before  she  had  recovered  from  her  surprise  at 
his  altered  manner,  re-appeared  with  a  message  that  his 
master  would  be  glad  to  see  her.  Rich  was  an  eccentric 
person,  Avho  talked  in  a  provincial  dialect ;  and  Peggy  found 
him  sitting  on  a  couch  with  one  leg  lolling  over  the  other, 
his  left  hand  holding  a  play-book,  and  his  right  a  cup  of 
tea,  while  round,  upon,  and  about  him  were  no  less  than 
seven-and- twenty  cats  of  various  sizes  and  colours.  He  is 
said  to  have  addressed  her  in  the  following  terms : — 

'  I  have  hard  of  you,  Madam,  and  though  I  am  in  no  grate  w^ant 
of  Hands,  yet  as  you  are  so  sharming  a  figure,  and  so  handsome  a 
parson,  I  would  oblige  you  for  all  that.  But  I  am  afraid  notwith- 
standing you  took  on  the  Irish  stage,  you  are  not  larned  enough 
for  mine.  Laming  is  a  fine  thing,  and  I  have  hard  you  have  it 
nat;  yet  perhaps,  with  some  of  my  help  in  private,  you  may 
do  very  well.' 


116    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

He  then  went  on  to  discourse  at  an  interminable  length 
about  his  various  cats ;  but  the  result  of  the  interview  was 
that  she  obtained  an  engagement  with  him  for  the  ensuing 
season.  Her  first  appearance  on  the  stage  of  Covent 
Garden  was  on  the  6th  of  November  1740,  when,  as 
Silvia  in  The  Recruiting  Officer,  she  at  once  took  the 
town  by  storm.  She  was  announced  for  the  21st  of  the 
same  month  as  Sir  Harry  Wildair,  and  the  novelty  of 
the  attempt  by  a  woman  aroused  the  interest  of  all  the 
dramatic  connoisseurs.  The  standard  for  acting  this  char- 
acter was  Wilkes,  and  every  actor  who  had  attempted  it 
since  him  had  fallen  very  far  short  of  success.  It  was 
reserved  for  Mrs.  Woffington,  says  Hitchcock,  to  exhibit 
this  elegant  portrait  of  the  young  man  of  fashion  'in  a 
style  perhaps  beyond  the  author's  warmest  ideas.'  The 
house  was  crowded,  and  she  so  infinitely  surpassed  all 
expectations  that  her  performance  was  received  with  a 
degree  of  applause  beyond  anything  that  had  ever  been 
known.  Her  Sir  Harry  Wildair  became  the  subject  of 
conversation  in  every  polite  circle ;  it  was  repeated  twenty 
nights  during  the  season,  drawing  every  night  a  ci  wded 
and  brilliant  audience,  and  it  established  her  reputation  as 
an  actress  of  the  first  rank. 

It  was  about  this  time,  apparently,  that  she  performed  a 
little  exploit,  the  story  of  Avhich  is  related  both  by  Charles 
Reade  and  Augustin  Daly,  but  Avhich  from  both  of  them 
receives  a  significant  alteration.  Charles  Reade  makes 
his  Peg  Woffington  herself  relate  that  she  was  courted 
by  a  young  gentleman,  promised  to  marry  him,  and  looked 
forward  with  tranquil  happiness  to  the  day  when  she  should 
be  a  wife  in  a  chimney-corner,  darning  stockings  for  a  large 
family  of  her  own;  but  that  she  suddenly  became  sus- 
picious, had  the  young  man  watched  and  discovered  that 
he  was  going  to  marry  another  woman  and  break  the  news 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  117 

to  her  by  degrees  afterwards.  Mr.  Daly  (who,  for  some 
reason  which  he  does  not  condescend  to  give,  dates  the 
event  in  1738)  says  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  a  young  gentleman  of  good  family,  whose  father  insisted 
on  his  marrying  an  heiress.  But  the  anonymous  author  of 
the  Memoirs  of  1760,  from  whom  both  of  them  take  the 
story,  tells  of  something  very  different  from  a  respectable 
engagement  to  be  married.      What  he  says  is  that  after 

Peg  came  to  London  with  T d  T fe,  that  man  of 

pleasure  might  perhaps  have  been  satisfied  with  her  if  she 
had  remained  faithful  to  him,  but  that '  such  a  vast  number 
of  young  and  old  rakes  offered  themselves  to  our  heroine, 
and  such  a  vast  number  were  accepted,'  that  it  was  by 
no  means  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  made  overtures  of 
marriage  to  another  woman.  But  when  Peg  discovered 
that  he  had  done  this,  she  determined  to  break  off  the 
match.  Hearing  that  a  masked  ball  was  to  be  given  in 
honour  of  the  birthday  of  the  lady,  the  revengeful  actress 
gained  admittance  to  it  in  man's  attire,  became  the  partner 
of  the  bride  elect  in  a  minuet,  and  took  that  opportunity 
to  make  such  vile  aspersions  on  the  character  of  her  lover 
that  the  young  lady  fainted,  and  the  company  broke  up  in 
confusion.  Whether  she  succeeded  in  breaking  off  the 
match  is  'not  stated,  but  we  are  told  that  she  succeeded 

in  makiuET  T d  T fe  so  furious  that  he  refused  to 

have  anything  more  to  do  with  her,  and  that  she  con- 
sequently lost  the  liberal  allowance  which  he  had  con- 
tinued to  make  her  up  to  that  date.  This  same  writer 
(who  is  drawn  upon  for  all  he  is  worth  whenever  he  says 
anything  to  Peg  Woffington's  credit)  goes  on  to  observe  that 
'  our  heroine's  abandoned  life  and  vicious  disposition  were 
notorious  to  every  one,'  and  that  even  Phryne,  Thais,  and 
Messalina  seemed  pygmies  by  comparison. 

In   1741    she   transferred   herself   to    Drury    Lane,    and 


118  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

during  that  and  the  following  season,  gained  increasing 
popularity  in  a  variety  of  parts,  but  especially  in  Lady 
Brute  in  The  Provoked  Wife,  Mrs.  Sullen  in  The  Beaux' 
Stratagem,  Berinthia  in  The  Relapse,  Belinda  in  Tlie  Man 
of  the  Mode,  and  Lady  Betty  Modish  in  The  Careless 
Husband,  as  well  as  in  two  or  three  Shakespearean  parts, 
such  as  Nerissa  in  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Helena  in 
AWs  Well  that  Ends  Well,  and  Rosalind  in  As  You  Like 
It.  The  chorus  of  praise  was  almost  unanimous ;  but  in 
October  1741  we  find  Horace  Walpole  writing  to  Sir 
Horace  Mann:  'I  have  been  two  or  three  times  at  the 
play,  very  unwillingly,  for  nothing  was  ever  so  bad  as 
the  actors,  except  the  company.  There  is  much  in  vogue 
a  Mrs.  Woffington,  a  bad  actress;  but  she  has  life.'  And 
a  year  previously,  Conway  had  written  to  Walpole,  in 
reply,  presumably,  to  some  similar  depreciating  remark, 
'  So  you  cannot  bear  Woffington ;  yet  all  the  town  is  in 
love  with  her.  To  say  the  truth,  I  am  glad  to  find  some- 
body to  keep  me  in  countenance,  for  I  think  she  is  an 
impudent  Irish-faced  girl' 

In  the  summer  of  1742,  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Woffington 
were  engaged  by  Duval  of  Smock  Alley  Theatre,  Dublin, 
in  order  to  rival  the  attraction  of  Quin  and  Mrs.  Gibber 
who  were  playing  at  Aungier  Street.  Davies  says  that 
Garrick's  acquaintance  with  Peg  Woffington  began  in 
Ireland  when  he  paid  his  first  visit  to  that  country  in 
the  summer  of  this  year.  But  she  had  already  played 
with  Garrick  in  London,  and  his  other  biographer.  Murphy, 
says  that  Garrick  now  travelled  to  Ireland  in  company 
with  her.  However  that  may  be,  they  certainly  rivalled 
the  attraction  of  Quin  and  Mrs.  Cibber  at  the  other 
theatre,  for,  from  the  middle  of  June  to  the  middle  of 
August,  Smock  Alley  Theatre  was  so  crowded  that  an 
epidemic  distemper  which  accompanied  the  excessive  heat 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  119 

of  that  summer  proved  fatal  to  a  large  number  of  the 
play-goers,  and  became  known  as  '  the  Garrick  fever.' 
But  though  Garrick's  success,  as  Hitchcock  says, '  exceeded 
all  imagination,'  Woffington  was  nearly  as  great  a  favourite, 
and  the  lucky  pair  returned  to  London  highly  satisfied 
both  with  the  reputation  and  the  profit  they  had  earned. 
And  they  appear  to  have  been  not  only  highly  satisfied 
with  themselves,  but  also  with  one  another,  for  they  re- 
turned to  London  as  declared  lovers.  Daly  says  that 
whatever  of  love  there  may  have  been  between  them  in 
Ireland  was  prudently  concealed.  There  was  also  some 
concealment  for  a  time  after  their  return.  Mrs.  Woflang- 
ton  had  apartments  in  Macklin's  house  in  Bow  Street, 
where  Garrick  became  a  constant  visitor.  But  she 
had  other  visitors  also,  and  in  particular  a  certain  deeply 
enamoured,  and  apparently  jealous,  noble  lord.  One 
night,  as  one  of  Macldin's  biographers  informs  us, 
Garrick  was  in  Mrs.  Woffington's  chamber  when  his 
lordship  unexpectedly  called.  The  actor,  who  would 
have  got  into  trouble  as  well  as  the  actress  if  dis- 
covered, jumped  out  of  bed  as  soon  as  he  heard  the 
loud  knocking  at  the  door,  snatched  up  his  clothes,  and 
hurried  off  into  Macklin's  room  for  security.  What  was  his 
alarm,  however,  when  he  found  that  in  the  scramble  he  had 
left  his  wig  behind!  Of  course,  this  unfortunate  wig  got 
entangled  in  his  lordship's  feet  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
room,  and  when  he  saw  what  it  was,  he  exclaimed,  '  Oh, 
Madam,  so  I  have  found  you  out  at  last,'  and  went  on  to 
upbraid  her  in  terms  of  rage  and  jealousy.  She  listened 
quite  calmly ;  and  then,  without  attempting  any  excuse, 
begged  that  he  would  not  make  himself  such  a  fool,  but 
give  back  her  wig  without  more  ado.  '  Wliat !  Madam,'  said 
he,  '  do  you  glory  in  your  infidelity  ?  Do  you  own  the 
wig,  then  ? ' — '  Yes,  certainly   I   do.     I  'm  sure  it  was   my 


120  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEOKGIAN  ERA 

money  paid  for  it ;  and  I  hope  it  will  repay  me  with  money 
and  reputation  too.'  This  called  for  further  explanation 
and  at  length  she  coolly  told  him  that  if  he  must  needs  be 
prying  into  all  the  particulars  of  her  domestic  and  pro- 
fessional business,  he  must  know  that  she  was  soon  to  play 
a  breeches  part,  and  the  wig  which  he  held  in  his  hand  was 
one  she  had  been  practising  in  just  before  she  went  to  bed ; 
and  because  her  maid  had  been  careless  enough  to  leave 
it  lying  about ;  it  was  absurd  for  him  to  scold  her  as  though 
she  were  a  common  prostitute.  His  lordship  then  begged 
a  thousand  pardons;  and  amity  was  restored.  Garrick 
heard  these  particulars  with  transport  on  the  following 
morning,  and  not  only  praised  her  wit  and  ingenuity,  but, 
'  what  was  still  better,  sir,'  said  Macklin,  '  gave  us  a  dinner 
the  same  day  at  Richmond,  where  we  all  laughed  heartily 
at  his  lordship's  gullibility.' 

A  lively  song  entitled  '  Lovely  Peggy,'  which  appeared 
about  this  time  and  had  some  vogue,  was  then  (and  by 
Mr.  Daly  still  is)  attributed  to  Garrick.  There  are  several 
stanzas  of  it,  in  the  following  strain : — 

I. 
'  Once  more  I  '11  tune  the  vocal  shell, 
To  hills  and  dales  my  passion  tell, 
A  flame  which  time  can  never  quell, 
That  burns  for  lovely  Peggy. 
Ye  greater  bards  the  lyre  should  hit. 
To  say  what  subject  is  more  fit, 
Than  to  record  the  sparkling  wit 

And  bloom  of  lovely  Peggy. 

II. 
The  sun  first  rising  in  the  morn, 
That  paints  the  dew-bespangled  thorn. 
Does  not  so  much  the  day  adorn 

As  does  my  lovely  Peggy. 
And  when  in  Thetis'  lap  of  rest, 
He  streaks  with  gold  the  ruddy  west, 
He 's  not  so  beauteous,  as  undi-ess'd 

Appears  my  lovely  Peggy.' 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  121 

But,  although  Garrick  did  address  some  verses  to  her, 
these  were  the  composition  of  Sir  Charles  Hanbury 
Williams.  In  a  note  to  the  song,  in  Hanbury  Williams's 
collected  works,  Horace  Walpole  says  that  Sir  Charles 
was  in  love  with  Mrs.  Woffington;  but  she  was  in  love 
with  Garrick.  One  day,  when  Sir  Charles  taxed  her  with 
having  been  with  the  actor,  though  she  had  promised 
to  see  him  no  more,  she  vowed  she  had  not  seen  him 
for  ages.  'Nay,'  said  Sir  Charles,  'I  know  you  saw  him 
yesterday.'  '  Well,'  replied  she,  '  and  is  not  that  an  age  ? ' 
The  second  volume  of  Hanbury  Williams's  works  contains 
a  number  of  copies  of  verses  which  he  composed  on  Mrs. 
Woffington  at  various  times,  some  of  which  show  plainly 
enough  that  he  was  under  no  illusions  as  to  her  character, 
but  which  are  too  explicit  for  quotation.  The  following 
specimen  of  this  gentleman's  curiously  cynical  love  poetry 
may  perhaps  be  allowed. 

'  Though  Peggy's  charms  have  oft  been  sung, 
The  darling  theme  of  every  tongue, 

New  praises  still  remain  ; 
Beauty  like  hers  may  well  infuse 
New  flights,  new  fancies,  like  a  Muse, 

And  brighten  every  strain. 

'Tis  not  her  form  alone  I  prize, 
Which  every  fool  that  has  his  eyes, 

As  well  as  I  can  see  ; 
To  say  she 's  fair  is  but  to  say, 
When  the  sun  shines  at  noon,  'tis  day — 

Which  none  need  learn  of  me. 

But  I  'm  in  love  with  Peggy's  mind, 
Where  every  virtue  is  combin'd, 

That  can  adorn  the  fair, 
Excepting  one  you  scarce  can  miss, 
So  trifling  that  you  woidd  not  wish 

That  virtue  had  been  there. 

She  who  possesses  all  the  rest. 

Must  sure  excel  the  prude  whose  breast 


122  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Tliat  virtue  shares  alone  ; 
To  seek  perfection  is  a  jest : 
They  who  have  fewest  faults  are  best ; 

And  Peggy  has  but  one.' 

After  a  Avhile,  however,  the  connection  between  Mrs. 
Woffington  and  Garrick  became  closer.  She  removed  from 
Macklin's  house,  and  hved  with  her  lover  in  Southampton 
Street,  Strand.  Murphy  says  that  the  connection  was 
known  to  and  approved  of  by  the  public.  They  adopted  a 
curious  method  of  housekeeping,  each  bearing  the  monthly 
expenses  alternately.  Macklin  frequently  made  one  at  their 
social  board,  which  was  also  occasionally  attended  by  some  of 
the  first  wits  of  the  time,  particularly  when  it  was  Peggy's 
month  to  be  responsible  for  the  housekeeping,  for  there  was 
always  then  a  better  table  and  a  greater  run  of  good  com- 
pany. When  Macklin  was  asked  how  this  happened,  he 
would  reply,  in  his  rough,  cynical  manner :  '  Happen  ?  sir, 
it  did  not  happen  at  all — it  was  by  design,  by  a  studied 
economy  on  the  part  of  Garrick,  which  more  or  less  attended 
him  all  through  life.  Some  confirmation  of  this  peculiarity 
is  given  by  Dr.  Johnson,  for  Boswell  reports  him  as  saying 
one  day  in  1788,  a  propos  of  a  remark  about  Garrick's  parsi- 
mony :  '  I  remember  drinking  tea  with  him  long  ago,  when 
Peg  Woffington  made  it,  and  he  grumbled  at  her  for  making 
it  too  strong :  "  Why,"  said  Garrick,  "  it  is  as  red  as  blood." ' 
This  peculiar  arrangement  appears  to  have  lasted  for  two 
or  three  years.  What  encouragement  Garrick  gave  her  for 
the  hope  of  marriage  we  do  not  know ;  but  it  was  Macklin's 
opinion  that  she  reckoned  on  it  as  a  strong  probability. 
According  to  Murphy,  Garrick  even  went  so  far  as  to  buy  the 
wedding  ring,  and  try  it  on  her  finger.  Murphy — like  Daly 
after  him — seems  to  have  thought  that  she  would  have 
been  a  very  suitable  wife  for  Garrick.     He  describes  her  as — 

'in  the  bloom  of  youth,  possessed  of  a  fine  figure,  great  beauty, 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  123 

and  every  elegant  accomplishment.  Her  understanding  was 
superior  to  the  generality  of  her  sex.  Forgive  her  one  female 
error,  and  it  might  fairly  be  said  of  her  that  she  was  adorned  with 
every  virtue  :  honour,  truth,  benevolence,  and  charity,  were  her 
distinguishing  qualities.  Her  conversation  was  in  a  style  of  ele- 
gance always  pleasing,  and  often  instructive.  She  abounded  in 
wit,  but  not  of  that  wild  sort  which  breakes  out  in  sudden  flashes, 
often  troublesome  and  impertinent.  Her  judgment  restrained  her 
within  due  bounds.' 

Unfortunately  the  one  '  female  error  '  with  which  Murphy 
debits  her  is  the  hardest  of  all  to  forgive ;  and  Garrick  may 
well  have  pondered,  once,  twice,  and  thrice,  before  binding 
himself  for  life  to  one  who  had  shown  herself  so  incontinent 
and  inconstant,  and  who  was,  moreover,  not  ashamed  to  own  it. 
We  are  told  that  one  night  when  playing  Sir  Harry  Wildair, 
after  finishing  a  scene  with  a  prodigious  thunder  of  applause, 
she  ran  into  the  green-room,  elate  with  joy,  and  found  Quin 
sitting  there.  '  Mr.  Quin,'  said  she,  '  I  have  played  this  part 
so  often  that  half  the  town  believe  me  to  be  a  real  man.' 
Quin,  in  his  rough  style,  made  answer :  '  Madam,  the  other 
half  know  you  to  be  a  woman.'  Mrs.  Woffington  was  not 
only  not  offended  at  his  freedom,  but  would  afterwards  fre- 
quently relate  the  story,  with  hearty  laughter  at  Quin's 
saturnine  humour.  Even  during  the  time  when  Garrick 
and  she  were  living  together  in  Southampton  Street,  and 
when  she  is  said  to  have  expected  that  he  would  marry  her, 
she  carried  on  other  gallantries ;  and  it  is  a  highly  curious 
circumstance  that  the  only  piece  of  her  handwriting  which 
has  been  preserved  relates  to  some  such  transaction  during 
that  time.  The  letter,  which  is  dated  November  19,  1743, 
runs  as  follows  : — 

'  My  Pretty  little  Oroonoko, — I  'm  glad  to  hear  of  y""  safe  arrival 
in  Sussex  and  that  you  are  so  well  placed  in  the  noble  family  of 
Richmond,  &c.,  for  whom  I  have  y^  most  profound  regard  and 
respect.     Sir  Thomas  Robinson  writes  me   word  y*  j^ou  are  very 


124  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

pretty  which  has  raised  my  curiosity  to  a  great  pitch  and  it  makes 
me  long  to  see  you. 

'  I  hear  the  acting-poetaster  is  w*"^  you  still  at  Goodwood  &  has 
had  the  insolence  to  brag  of  favours  from  me— vain  coxcomb  !  I 
did  indeed  by  the  persuasion  of  Mr.  Swiney  and  his  assistance 
answer  the  simpleton's  nauseous  letter — fob  ! 

'  He  did  well,  truly,  to  throw  my  letter  into  the  fire,  otherwise 
it  must  have  made  him  appear  more  ridiculous  than  his  amour  at 
Bath  did  or  his  cudgel-playing  with  y''  rough  Irishman.  Saucy 
Jackanapes  !  To  give  it  for  a  reason  for  ye  burning  of  my  letter 
that  there  were  expressions  in  it  too  passionate  &  tender  to  be 
shewn. 

'  I  did  in  an  ironical  way  (which  the  booby  took  in  a  literal  sense) 
compliment  both  myself  and  him  on  the  successe  we  shared 
mutually  on  his  first  appearance  on  y«  stage  and  that  which  he 
had  (all  to  himself)  in  the  part  of  Carlos  in  Love  Makes  a  Man, 
when  with  an  undaunted  modesty  he  withstood  the  attack  of  his 
foes  arm*^  with  catt-calls  &  other  offensive  weapons. 

'I  did  indeed  give  him  a  little  double-meaning  touch  on  the 
expression  &  graceful  motion  of  his  hands  &  arms  as  assistants  to 
his  energetic  way  of  delivering  y''  poets  sentim*^  &  which  he  must 
have  learned  from  y^  youthful  manner  of  spreading  plaisters  when 
he  was  aprentice. 

'  There,  these  I  say  were  the  true  motives  to  his  burning  y'^  lett^" 
and  no  passionate  expressions  of  mine. 

'  I  play  ye  part  of  Sir  Harry  Wildair  to-night,  and  can't  recollect 
w*  I  said  to  J""  impertinent  monster  in  my  lett"^,  nor  have  I  time 
to  say  any  more  now,  but  you  shall  hear  from  mo  by  the  next 
post ;  and  if  Swiney  has  a  copy  of  it,  or  I  can  recover  the  chief 
articles  in  it,  you  shall  have  'em.— I  am  (My  D"^  Black  Boy)  with 
my  duty  to  their  Graces  y'  admirer  &  humble  Serv'', 

'  Margaret  Woffington.' 

Daly  quotes  this  as  a  refutation  of  certain  false  reports 
which  were  circulated  to  her  disadvantage ;  but,  on  the  face 
of  it,  it  looks  much  more  like  an  artful  excuse  to  one 
favoured  lover  for  a  compromising  correspondence  with 
another ;  and  the  story  of  Garrick's  wig  shows  how  ingenious 
she  could  be  in  this  way  when  necessity  arose.  Be  this  as 
it  may,  however,  the  tender  connection  with  Garrick  came 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  125 

to  an  ignominious  end.     Macklin's  biographer,  Cooke,  gives 
the  following  account  of  their  parting : — 

'After  one  of  those  tcte-a-tetes  when,  we  suppose,  like  Lucy  in 
the  Beggar's  Opera,  she  was  soliciting  him  to  he  made  an  honest 
woman  of,  the  prospect  of  such  a  marriage  haunted  him  so  in 
his  dreams  that  he  had  a  very  restless  night  of  it.  She  inquired 
the  cause  :  he  demurred  and  hesitated  for  some  time ;  hut  as  the 
lady  would  take  no  excuse,  he  confusedly  told  her  that  he  was 
thinking  of  this  marriage,  that  it  was  a  very  foolish  thing  for  both 
parties,  who  might  do  better  in  separate  lines  ;  and  that  for  his 
part,  though  he  loved  and  respected  his  Peggy,  and  ever  should 
do  so  as  an  admirer,  yet  he  could  not  answer  for  himself  as  a 
Benedick.  "And  pray  was  it  this,"  said  the  lady,  very  coolly, 
"  which  has  given  you  this  restless  night  1 "  "  Why,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  my  dear  Peg,  as  you  love  frankness,  it  was ;  and  in  conse- 
quence I  have  worn  the  shirt  of  Dejanira  for  these  eight  hours 
past."  "  Then,  sir,"  said  she,  raising  her  voice,  "  get  up  and  throw 
it  off ;  for  from  this  hour  I  separate  myself  from  you,  except  in 
the  course  of  professional  business,  or  in  the  presence  of  a  third 
person."     Garrick  attempted  to  soothe  her,  but  in  vain.' 

The  story  got  abroad,  with  exaggerations,  and  there  were 
caricatures  of  the  scene  in  the  print  shops.  Macklin's  bio- 
grapher adds  another  little  touch  to  show  Garrick's  char- 
acteristic meanness,  even  in  his  love  affairs.  Next  morning, 
we  are  told,  Peggy  packed  up  all  the  little  presents  which 
Garrick  had  given  her,  and  returned  them.  He  did  the 
same  with  her  presents  to  him,  with  the  exception  of  a  pair 
of  diamond  shoe-buckles,  which  had  cost  her  a  considerable 
sum.  She  waited  a  month,  and  then  wrote  a  letter  deli- 
cately reminding  him  of  these.  He  replied,  saying  that  as 
these  were  the  only  little  memorials  he  had  of  the  many 
happy  hours  they  had  spent  together,  he  hoped  she  would 
permit  him  to  keep  them  for  her  sake. 

When  Garrick  purchased  a  share  of  the  Patent,  and  as- 
sumed the  managership  of  Drury  Lane,  in  conjunction  with 
Lacy,  in  1747,  Mrs.  Woffington's  position  became  a  some- 


126  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

what  awkward  one ;  especially  as  he  brought  with  him  from 
Covent  Garden  Mrs.  Gibber  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  with  whom 
there  were  bound  to  be  disagreeable  contentions  for  char- 
acters ;  to  say  nothing  of  Mrs.  Clive,  who,  as  Tate  Wilkinson 
observes,  was  superior  to  fear,  and  was  a  constant  thorn. 
As  soon  as  her  articles  with  Lacy  expired,  therefore,  she 
transferred  herself  to  Covent  Garden ;  where  she  remained 
from  1749  to  1751.  Then,  in  consequence,  as  Mrs.  Bellamy 
asserts,  of  Quin's  refusal  to  allow  her  an  extra  benefit  which 
she  had  asked  for,  she  shook  the  dust  of  Covent  Garden 
from  her  feet,  and  set  off  in  a  pet  for  Dublin.  She  applied 
to  Sheridan  for  an  engagement.  But  although  old  Colley 
Gibber  had  transmitted  glowing  accounts  of  the  surprising 
improvement  of  Mrs.  Woffington,  Victor  says  that  '  that 
very  happy,  singular  old  gentleman '  retained  the  airs  of  a 
lover  when  over  seventy  years  of  age,  and  his  encomiums  on 
the  lady's  perfections  were  attributed  by  the  Dublin  people 
to  the  excess  of  his  passion.  She  probably  asked  more  than 
Sheridan  thought  she  was  worth ;  but  after  some  bargaining 
she  was  engaged  at  £400  for  the  season.  Her  reception, 
however,  was  such  as  surpassed  the  most  sanguine  expecta- 
tions of  her  friends,  and  made  the  summer  of  1751  a  brilliant 
era  in  the  history  of  Sheridan's  theatre.  Her  success  was 
not  confined  to  any  one  particular  line  of  acting.  But  the 
parts  in  Avhich  she  peculiarly  charmed  the  Irish  people  were 
Charlotte  in  Gibber's  Nonjuror,  Lady  Townley,  Hermione, 
and  Sir  Harry  Wildair.  Each  of  these  very  opposite  char- 
acters, which  it  was  difiicult  to  say  in  which  she  most 
excelled,  says  Victor,  she  repeated  ten  nights,  and  the 
receipts  of  the  theatre,  on  those  nights  alone,  amounted  to 
upwards  of  £4000,  or  an  average  of  £100  a  night ;  '  an  in- 
stance never  known  at  that  time  on  the  Irish  Stage  for  four 
old  stock  plays.'  In  a  letter  to  the  Countess  of  Ossory  in 
October  of  that  year,  Victor  reports : — 


MARGARET  VVOFFINGTON  127 

'  Mrs.  Woffington  is  the  only  theme  in  or  out  of  the  theatre,  her 
performances  are  in  general  admirable.  She  appeared  in  Lady 
Townly,  and  since  Mrs.  Oldfield  I  have  not  seen  a  complete  Lady 
Townly  till  that  night, — and  in  Andromache  her  grief  was  digni- 
fied, and  her  deportment  elegant — in  Jane  Shore  nothing  appeared 
remarkable  but  her  superior  figure — but  in  Hermione  she  discovered 
such  talents  as  have  not  been  displayed  since  Mrs.  Porter.' 

The  newspapers  were  every  day  filled  with  panegyrics  in 
prose  and  in  verse,  on  her  person,  on  her  elegant  deportment, 
and  on  her  inimitable  acting.  A  specimen  of  the  latter,  by 
'  a  gentleman  of  some  eminence  in  the  literary  world,'  will 
perhaps  be  more  welcome  than  a  specimen  of  the  prose : — 

'  Explore  the  theatres,  how  very  few 
Express  the  passion  which  the  poet  drew  ; 
Mad  with  the  love  of  praise,  the  actor  tries 
Like  Bayes,  to  elevate  and  to  surprise  ; 
And  women  oft,  whose  beauty  charms  alone. 
Neglect  the  poet's  part  to  play  their  own  ; 
But  you  each  character  so  close  pursue, 
We  think  the  author  copied  it  from  you. 

Hail  then  !  in  whom  united  we  behold 
Whatever  graced  the  theatres  of  old  ; 
A  form  above  description,  and  a  mind 
By  judgment  temper'd,  and  by  wit  refin'd. 
Cut  oflf  in  beauty's  prime  !  when  Oldfield  died, 
The  Muses  wept,  and  threw  their  harps  aside  ; 
But  now  resume  the  lyre,  amaz'd  to  see 
Her  greatest  beauties  far  outdone  by  thee.' 

Sheridan  was  in  ecstasies.  He  gave  her  double  pay,  £800 
instead  of  £400,  for  the  winter  season,  and  then  reaped  a 
golden  harvest  from  her  astonishing  attractiveness.  She 
now  lived  in  some  splendour,  keeping  a  handsome  equipage 
and  two  footmen,  and  treating  her  friends  to  lavish  enter- 
tainments. She  had  never  sought  the  society  of  the  other 
sex,  says  Mr.  Daly,  and  she  was  not,  '  perhaps,'  received  at 
Dublin  Castle.     This  is  a  rather  euphemistic  way  of  putting 


128    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 
it.     What  Mr.  Daly's  authority,  Thomas  Davies,  observed 


was 


'  Sho  frankly  declared  that  she  preferred  the  company  of  men 
to  that  of  women ;  the  latter,  she  said,  talked  of  nothing  but  silks 
and  scandal.  Whether  this  particular  preference  of  the  conversa- 
tion of  males  might  not  take  its  rise  from  her  not  being  admitted 
to  visit  certain  ladies  of  quality,  I  will  not  take  upon  me  to  say  ; 
but  she  certainly  had  not  the  free  access  to  women  of  rank  and 
virtue  which  was  permitted  to  Oldfield  and  Gibber.' 

But  she  had  what  with  a  happy  ambiguity  is  described  as 
the  '  singular  honour '  of  being  the  only  woman  ever  ad- 
mitted at  the  meetings  of  the  Beef-Steak  Club,  was  elected 
President  of  that  celebrated  society,  and,  according  to  some 
authorities,  always  took  her  place  in  the  chair  dressed  in 
male  attire.  And  if  the  ladies  of  quality  declined  to  receive 
her,  they  paid  her  what  is  proverbially  the  sincerest  flattery, 
for  she  appears  to  have  set  the  fashions  in  Dublin,  as  she 
had  already  done  in  London.  She  was  not  spoiled  by  her 
great  success;  and,  as  Hitchcock  remarks,  it  should  be 
remembered  to  her  honour  that  in  the  zenith  of  her  glory — 

'She  remained  the  same  gay,  affable,  obliging,  good-natured 
Woffington  to  every  one  around  her.  She  had  none  of  those 
occasional  illnesses  which  I  have  sometimes  seen  assumed  by 
capital  performers,  to  the  great  vexation  and  loss  of  the  manager, 
and  disappointment  of  the  public :  she  always  acted  four  times 
each  week.  Not  the  lowest  performer  in  the  theatre  did  she 
refuse  playing  for ;  out  of  twenty-six  benefits  she  acted  in  twenty- 
four.' 

Some  time  in  1752  died  Owen  M'Swinny,  a  buffoon,  who 
had  formerly  been  one  of  the  managers  of  Drury  Lane,  and 
afterwards  Keeper  of  the  King's  Mews.  He  was  one  of  Peg 
Woffington's  numerous  admirers ;  and  by  his  will  he  directed 
that  a  certain  sum  should  be  invested  in  Consols,  and  the 
interest  of  it,  amounting  to  £200  a  year,  paid  to  her  for  life. 
But  there  was  a  certain  condition  attached  to  the  bequest, 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  129 

which,  Victor   tells  us,  caused  a  merry  scandal  in  Dublin 
towards  the  end  of  the  year. 

'When  Christinas  approached,  as  there  are  no  plays  in  that 
week,  the  manager  and  Mrs.  Woffington  took  a  public  journey 
together  to  his  seat  at  Quilca,  in  the  county  of  Cavan,  about  fifty 
miles  from  Dublin.  This  tUe-a-Ute  party  (as  the  manager  left  his 
wife  behind)  must  create  merriment  in  a  place  where  the  actions 
of  remarkable  persons  are  presently  known,  especially  of  players 
who  are  not  very  notorious  for  their  chastity.  As  I  was  not  in 
the  secret,  I  wondered  at  this  transaction,  and  the  more,  as  I  knew 
the  manager's  private  sentiments  of  that  lady,  which  tallied  with 
my  own,  viz.,  that  she  had  captivating  charms  as  a  jovial,  witty, 
bottle-companion,  but  very  few  remaining  as  a  mere  female.  New 
stories  were  propagated  every  morning  about  this  mysterious 
couple,  and  whimsical  reports  of  Mrs.  Sheridan's  raging  fits  of 
jealousy.  But  Mrs.  Sheridan  was  not  only  in  the  secret,  but  being 
a  lady  of  distinguished  good  sense,  was  at  all  times  satisfied  with 
the  conduct  of  her  husband.  And  now  for  the  secret,  which  was 
very  soon  (as  Scrub  says)  no  secret  at  all.  The  manager,  to  show 
his  extraordinary  politeness  to  Mrs.  Woffington,  carried  her  down 
to  Quilca  to  meet  a  worthy  clergyman  in  his  neighbourhood,  who, 
from  the  wildness  of  his  situation,  is  called  the  Primate  of  the 
Mountains.  This  reverend  gentleman  was  to  receive  the  recanta- 
tion of  this  lady  from  the  Romish  religion  to  the  Protestant.  I 
say  to  receive  it,  and  to  perform  the  ceremony  ;  because  a  motive 
more  powerful  than  any  arguments  that  could  be  used  by  the 
whole  body  of  the  clergy  had  already  persuaded  her  to  make  the 
necessary  change.  An  estate  of  £200  a  year  in  Ireland  had  been 
lately  left  her  by  her  friend  and  admirer,  the  famous  Owen 
M'Swinny,  Esquire,  which  she  was  put  in  possession  of  by  virtue 
of  that  recantation.' 

Her  season  of  prosperity  in  Dublin  lasted  without  any 
diminution  until  1754,  when  there  were  riots  in  the  theatre, 
due  to  the  real  or  supposed  interference  of  the  Beef-Steak 
Club  in  political  matters,  concerning  which  party  passion  at 
that  time  ran  very  high ;  in  consequence  of  which  Sheridan 
closed  the  house,  and  advertised  it  to  let;  whereupon  Peg 
Woffington  returned  to  London. 


130  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

In  October  1754,  after  an  absence  of  three  years,  she  re- 
appeared at  Covent  Garden ;  and  for  the  following  three 
years  was  again  one  of  the  most  prominent  and  popular  of 
London  actresses,  both  in  comedy  and  in  tragedy.  Hitch- 
cock comments  on  the  remarkable  circumstance  that, 
unassisted  by  friends,  and  unimproved  by  any  education 
other  than  she  had  picked  up  as  she  went  along,  Peg 
Woffington  should  have  risen  from  so  lowly  and  even  squalid 
an  origin  and  surroundings  to  'a  station  so  celebrated  as 
to  be  able  to  set  the  fashions,  prescribe  laws  to  taste,  and, 
beyond  any  of  her  time,  present  us  with  a  lively  picture  of 
the  easy,  well-bred  woman  of  fashion.'  It  is  the  mystery  of 
genius,  which  modern  men  of  science  are  no  more  able  than 
the  historian  of  the  Irish  stage  to  explain.  Peg  Woffington 
was  a  born  artist,  and  she  had  likewise  an  infinite  capacity 
for  taking  pains.  Her  natural  bent  was  for  the  representation 
of  women  of  high  rank  and  dignified  elegance.  And  her 
representation  of  the  man  of  fashion,  in  Sir  Harry  Wildair, 
was  esteemed  of  such  surpassing  excellence  that  no  male 
actor  ventured  to  assume  the  part  so  long  as  she  remained 
on  the  stage.  But  she  by  no  means  confined  herself  to  such 
parts.  As  Mrs.  Day,  in  The  Committee,  for  example,  she 
*  made  no  scruple  to  disguise  her  beautiful  countenance  by 
drawing  on  it  the  lines  of  deformity  and  the  wrinkles  of  old 
age,  to  put  on  the  tawdry  habiliments  and  vulgar  manners 
of  an  old  hypocritical  woman.'  Nor  was  this  all.  She 
aspired  to  a  general  excellence  in  her  profession,  and  being 
aware  of  her  comparative  inferiority  in  tragedy,  she  visited 
Paris  in  order  to  take  lessons  from  Mademoiselle  Dumesnil, 
an  actress  celebrated  for  her  natural  elocution  and  dignified 
action.  Unfortunately,  as  Victor  politely  puts  it,  'her  voice 
was  not  harmonised  for  the  plaintive  notes  of  sorrow.' 
There  is  a  story  that  the  first  time  she  played  Portia  in 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  when  Lorenzo  said :  '  This  is  the 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  131 

voice,  or  I  am  much  deceived,  of  Portia,'  and  she  had  to 
reply — '  He  knows  me  as  the  blind  man  knows  the  cuckoo, 
by  her  bad  voice,'  the  whole  audience  laughed  outright,  and 
she,  being  perfectly  conscious  of  her  natural  deficiency, 
joined  in  the  general  merriment.  But  Davies  says  that 
after  her  return  from  France,  though  she  could  never  attain 
to  that  happy  art  of  speaking,  nor  reach  that  skill  of  touch- 
ing the  passions,  so  justly  admired  in  Gibber  and  Pritchard, 
yet  she  acted  some  tragic  parts  with  much  approbation, 
particularly  Andromache,  and  Hermione  in  The  Distressed 
Mother.  And  whatever  may  be  said  about  the  laxity  of  her 
private  life,  as  a  performer  she  was  conscientious  to  a  degree. 
Tate  Wilkinson  (who  is  an  excellent  witness  to  call  in  her 
favour,  because  she  certainly  did  her  best  to  blast  his  career 
at  the  outset)  bears  emphatic  testimony  that  she  often 
played  without  murmuring  six  nights  in  the  week;  that  she 
was  ever  ready  at  the  call  of  the  audience;  and  that, 
although  in  possession  of  all  the  first  line  of  characters, 
never  thought  it  improper,  or  a  degradation  of  her  conse- 
quence, whenever  it  suited  the  interest  of  her  manager,  to 
play  parts  which  (as  old  Tate  found  from  frequent  experi- 
ence) were  regarded  as  insults  if  ofiiered  to  some  ladies  of 
far  inferior  pretensions.  Such  being  her  habitual  practice, 
it  was  singular  and  unfortunate  that  when,  on  one  solitary 
occasion,  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel  with  Rich,  she  refused 
to  come  forward  as  a  substitute  for  Mrs.  Gibber,  the  audience, 
who  thought  (rightly  enough)  that  most  of  Rich's  company 
had  been  treating  him  badly,  showed  their  sympathy  for  the 
manager  by  venting  all  their  disapprobation  on  the  compar- 
atively innocent  head  of  Peg  Woffington.  Tate  Wilkinson 
thus  describes  what  happened  on  her  next  appearance  on 
the  stage : — 

'  Whoever  is  living  and  saw  her  that  night  will  own  that  they 
never  beheld  any  figure  half  so  beautiful  since.     Her  ano-er  o-ave  a 


132  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

glow  to  her  complexion,  and  added  lustre  to  her  charming  eyes. 
The  audience  treated  her  very  rudely,  bade  her  ask  pardon,  and 
threw  orange  peels  on  the  stage.  She  behaved  with  great  resolu- 
tion, and  treated  their  rudeness  with  glorious  contempt.  She  left 
the  stage ;  was  called  for ;  and  with  infinite  persuasion  was  pre- 
vailed on  to  return.  However,  she  did  so,  and  walked  forward  to 
the  footlights,  and  told  them  she  was  ready  and  willing  to  perform 
her  character,  if  they  chose  to  permit  her — that  the  decision  was 
theirs — on  or  oflf,  just  as  they  pleased — a  matter  of  indifference  to 
her.     The  ayes  had  it,  and  all  went  smoothly  afterwards.' 

Thougli  Peg  Woffington  generally  kept  on  very  amicable 
terms  with  her  managers,  her  hot  temper  and  biting  tongue 
caused  frequent  scenes  in  the  green-room  between  her  and 
some  of  the  other  performers.  The  mutual  hatred  which 
existed  between  her  and  Mrs.  Clive  has  already  been  noticed 
in  the  preceding  sketch;  and  an  account  of  some  of  her 
contentions  with  Mrs.  Bellamy  will  be  found  in  the  following 
one.  Unfortunately  none  of  Mrs.  Olive's  sharp  speeches 
nor  of  Woffington's  keen  and  sarcastic  replies  have  been 
recorded.  The  solitary  instance  which  Mr.  Daly  gives  is 
not  unimpeachably  authentic.  Kitty  is  said  to  have  re- 
marked to  Peg,  '  A  pretty  face,  of  course,  excuses  a  multi- 
plicity of  sweethearts ' ;  and  Peg  to  have  replied  to  Kitty, 
'  And  a  plain  one  insures  a  vast  overflow  of  unmarketable 
virtue.'  With  Quin  she  carried  on  a  perpetual  war  of  wit. 
In  Reade's  novel,  Quin  always  gets  the  worst  of  it ;  but  in 
reality  the  reverse  seems  to  have  happened.  His  retort  that 
if  half  the  town  believed  her  to  be  a  man,  the  other  half 
knew  well  enough  to  the  contrary,  has  already  been  cited. 
A  similar  TYiot  is  credited  to  him  at  a  later  date,  after  she 
had  been  paying  a  visit  to  Bath,  and,  according  to  the 
Memoirs  of  1760,  indulging  in  a  number  of  gallantries  there 
and  elsewhere.  Quin  inquired  why  she  had  been  to  Bath. 
She  answered  saucily, '  Oh,  for  mere  wantonness.'  Where- 
upon Quin  drily  asked,  '  And  have  you  been  cured  of  it  ? ' 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  133 

Tate  Wilkinson,  who  had  a  fine  talent  for  mimicry,  gave  her 
great  offence  by  including  her  in  a  series  of  imitations  which 
he  gave  when  a  mere  lad  of  seventeen.  He  was  very  anxious 
to  obtain  an  engagement  at  one  of  the  London  theatres,  and 
with  that  object  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time  hanging  about 
behind  the  scenes.  One  day  in  1756  an  old  mihtary  friend 
of  his  family  took  him  to  Covent  Garden,  where  they 
occupied  a  prominent  position  in  the  stage-box.  Mrs. 
Woffington,  he  says,  had  been  told  that  he  was  remarkable 
for  '  taking  her  off,'  and  in  the  course  of  her  part  she  came 
close  to  the  stage-box  where  he  and  his  friend  were  sitting, 
and  ended  a  speech  with  such  a  sarcastic  sneer  at  him  that 
it  actually  made  him  draw  back  in  his  chair.  As  ill  luck 
would  have  it,  at  that  very  moment  a  woman  in  the  balcony 
above  called  out  something  in  a  remarkably  shrill  voice  which 
occasioned  a  general  laugh;  and  Mrs.  Woffington  thought  it  to 
proceed  from  poor,  trembling  Tate.  '  She  again  turned,'  he 
relates, '  and  darted  her  lovely  eyes,  though  assisted  by  the 
furies,  which  made  me  look  confounded  and  sheepish ;  all 
which  only  served  to  confirm  my  condemnation.'  In  the 
green-room,  after  the  scene  had  ended,  she  enlarged  on  the 
young  man's  insolence  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  him  the 
subject  of  general  abuse.  And  the  next  morning,  when  he 
was  attending  the  manager's  levee,  she  passed  through  the 
room  where  he  had  long  been  kept  wearily  waiting,  and — 

'  without  a  word,  a  curtsey,  or  a  bow  of  the  head,  proceeded  on 
to  her  sedan ;  from  which  she  as  haughtily  returned,  and  advan- 
cing towards  me  with  queen-like  steps,  and  viewing  me  most 
contemptuously,  said,  "Mr.  Wilkinson,  I  have  made  a  Aasit  this 
morning  to  Mr.  Rich  to  command  and  insist  on  his  not  giving  you 
any  engagement  whatever — no,  not  of  the  most  menial  kind  in  the 
theatre.  Merit  you  have  none, — charity  you  deserve  not, — for  if 
you  did,  my  purse  should  give  you  a  dinner — your  impudence  to 
me  last  night,  where  you  had  with  such  assurance  placed  yourself, 
is  one  proof  of  your  ignorance ;  added  to  that,  I  heard  you  echo 


134  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

my  voice  when  I  was  acting,  and  I  sincerely  hope  that  in  whatever 
barn  you  are  suifered  as  an  unworth}^  stroller,  you  will  fully  experi- 
ence the  same  contempt  you  dared  last  night  to  offer  me."  With 
a  flounce,  and  enraged  features,  without  waiting,  or  permitting  me 
to  reply,  she  darted  once  more  into  her  chair.' 

Tate,  however,  still  persevered  in  haunting  the  theatre; 
and  one  night,  some  few  weeks  after  this,  when  she  was  play- 
ing Lady  Dainty  in  Tlie  Double  Gallant,  he  ventured  to  say 
to  Mrs.  Barrington,  who  was  acting  in  the  same  piece, 
that  he  thought  Mrs.  Woffington  looked  very  beautiful. 
Mrs.  Barrington  tossed  her  head,  and  told  him  that  was  no 
news,  at  which  she  and  Mrs.  Vincent  lauuhed.  This  caused 
Mrs.  Woffington  to  turn  her  head  and  condescendingly  ask 
what  they  were  laughing  at.  She  was  told  that  the  young- 
man  had  been  saying  that  Lady  Dainty  looked  beautiful  that 
night,  and  had  been  informed  that  they  were  in  no  need  of 
such  information,  as  she  always  looked  so ;  whereupon 
Mrs.  Woffington,  with  a  disdainful  glance  at  him,  scornfully 
said, '  Poor  creature  ! '  and  Tate  began  to  think  that  his  only 
chance  of  earning  his  bread  would  indeed  be  acting  in  a 
barn — if,  indeed,  being  held  in  such  contempt,  he  might 
even  aspire  to  that.  But  it  was  not  long  before  he  was  fated 
to  see  the  last  public  appearance  of  his  beautiful  foe. 

On  May  the  17th,  1757,  As  You  Like  It  was  acted  at 
Covent  Garden  for  the  combined  benefit  of  three  of  the 
players.  Tate  Wilkinson,  who  had  in  the  meantime  made 
his  d6but  in  the  provinces,  was  standing  near  the  wing  as 
Mrs.  Woffington,  in  the  character  of  Rosalind,  was  going  on 
the  stage  in  the  first  act,  and  she  spoke  to  him  in  passing. 

'  Mrs.  Woffington  ironically  said  she  was  glad  to  have  that  oppor- 
tunity of  congratulating  me  on  my  stage  success  ;  and  did  not 
doubt  but  such  merit  would  insure  me  an  engagement  the  following 
winter !  I  bowed,  but  made  no  answer.  I  knew  her  dislike  to  me, 
and  was  humiliated  sufficiently,  and  needed  not  any  slight  to  sink 
me  lower.  .  .  .  She  went  through  Rosalind  for  four  acts  without 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  135 

my  perceiving  she  was  in  the  least  disordered,  but  in  the  fifth  she 
complained  of  great  indisposition.  I  ofiered  her  my  arm,  the  which 
she  graciously  accepted;  I  thought  she  looked  softened  in  her 
behaviour,  and  had  less  of  the  hauteur.  When  she  came  oflF  at  the 
quick  change  of  dress,  she  again  complained  of  being  ill,  but  got 
accoutred,  and  returned  to  finish  the  part,  and  pronounced  in  the 
epilogue  speech — "  If  it  be  true  that  good  wine  needs  no  bush,  it  is 
as  true  that  a  good  play  needs  no  epilogue,"  etc.  etc.  But  when 
arrived  at — "  If  I  were  among  you  I  would  kiss  as  many  of  you 
as  had  beards  that  pleased  me,"  her  voice  broke,  she  faltered, 
endeavoured  to  go  on,  but  could  not  proceed ;  then  in  a  voice  of 
tremor  screamed  :  "  0  God  !  0  God  ! "  tottered  to  the  stage- 
door,  speechless,  where  she  was  caught.  The  audience,  of  course, 
applauded  till  she  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  sunk  into  awful  looks 
of  astonishment  ...  to  see  one  of  the  most  handsome  women  of 
the  age,  a  favourite  principal  actress,  who  had  for  several  seasons 
given  high  entertainment,  struck  so  suddenly  by  the  hand  of 
Death,  in  such  a  situation  of  time  and  place,  and  in  her  prime 
of  life.' 

She  was  given  over  for  dead  that  night,  and  for  several 
days  following ;  but  she  so  far  recovered  as  to  linger  on  for 
another  three  years,  though,  as  Tate  reports,  '  existing  as  a 
mere  skeleton,  "  sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every- 
thing." '  Wilkinson  ungrudgingly  praises  both  her  beauty 
and  her  power  as  an  actress.  The  circumstances  he  relates 
mostly  belong  as  much  to  his  own  history  as  to  hers.  And 
he  declares  (writing  more  than  thirty  years  afterwards),  that 
he  had  no  pique  from  what  had  happened  so  long  ago; 
adding  that  if  she  favoured  him  with  a  thought  when  she 
died,  he  hoped  she  had  forgiven  him,  '  as  I  now  do  her ;  for 
had  I  been  in  her  place,  I  think  I  might  and  should,  too 
probably,  have  acted  the  same  as  she  did.' 

For  the  remaining  three  years  of  her  life  she  lived  some- 
times in  London,  sometimes  at  Teddington,  where  for  ten  or 
twelve  years  previously  she  had  had  a  country  villa,  with 
lawn  sloping  to   the  river.      Her   mother   still   lived,   and 


136  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

was  adequately  provided  for.      John  O'KeefFe  says  in  his 
Recollections  : — 

'I  remember  .  .  .  seeing  her  mother,  whom  she  comfortably 
supported ;  a  respectable-looking  old  lady,  in  her  short  black  velvet 
cloak,  with  deep  rich  fringe,  a  diamond  ring,  and  a  small  agate 
snufF-box.  She  had  nothing  to  mind  but  going  the  rounds  of  the 
Catholic  Chapels,  and  chatting  with  her  neighbours.' 

Her  sister  Mary  was  also  adequately  provided  for.  Lee 
Lewes  says  that  notwithstanding  her  own  irregularities,  she 
was  ever  anxious  for  her  sister's  honour.  Mary,  who  was 
considered  by  some  even  more  beautiful  than  Margaret,  was 
educated,  at  the  latter's  expense,  at  a  continental  convent. 
In  1745  she  attempted  the  stage,  but  was  as  conspicuous  a 
failure  as  her  sister  had  been  a  success.  Then  she  had  the 
good  fortune  to  marry  Captain  the  Hon.  George  Cholmondeley, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Cholmondeley,  and  nephew  of  Horace 
Walpole.  In  December  1746,  Walpole,  writing  to  Mann, 
laments  this  misfortune  which  has  happened  in  his  family. 
And  the  story  goes  that  the  young  man's  father  hurried 
up  to  London  to  see  whether  the  marriage  could  not  be 
annulled.  But,  after  an  interview  with  Peg  Woffington,  he 
declared  that  her  beauty  and  charm  had  quite  reconciled 
him  to  the  marriage  of  his  son  with  her  sister,  which  at  first 
had  given  him  such  otfence.  '  My  Lord,"  she  is  said  to  have 
replied,  '  I  have  much  more  reason  to  be  offended  at  it  than 
your  lordship,  for  whereas  I  had  but  one  beggar  to  support, 
I  now  have  two.'  She  is  reported  to  have  taken  a  house  for 
them  in  Westminster,  furnished  it  handsomely,  and  in 
addition  provided  them  with  money  to  live  on.  But  perhaps 
the  foregoing  speech,  together  with  his  lordship's  complac- 
ency, may  have  relieved  her  of  the  responsibility.  Captain 
Cholmondeley  afterwards  quitted  the  army,  and  was  provided 
for  by  his  influential  friends  in  the  Church.     Like  her  sister, 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  137 

Mary  seems  to  have  been  a  woman  of  wit  and  culture  as 
well  as  beauty;  and  it  is  certainly  a  most  extraordinary 
circumstance  that  two  such  women  should  have  been  the 
children  of  an  Irish  bricklayer  and  a  washerwoman.  Boswell 
relates  that  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  and  some  other  ladies  were 
dining  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  one  day  in  1778,  when 
Mary,  in  a  high  flow  of  spirits,  exhibited  some  lively  sallies 
of  hyperbolical  compliment  to  Johnson,  '  with  whom  she  had 
been  long  acquainted,  and  was  very  easy.'  He  answered  her, 
somewhat  in  the  style  of  a  hero  of  romance,  '  Madam,  you 
crown  me  with  unfading  laurels.'  On  another  occasion, 
reported  by  Murphy,  Johnson,  sitting  at  table  with  her,  took 
hold  of  her  hand  in  the  middle  of  dinner,  and  held  it  close  to 
his  eye,  wondering  at  its  delicacy  and  whiteness,  till  with  a 
smile  she  asked, '  Will  he  give  it  to  me  again  when  he  has  done 
with  it  ? '  Johnson  told  Fanny  Burney  that  Mrs.  Cholmon- 
deley was  the  first  person  who  publicly  praised  and  recom- 
mended Evelina  among  the  wits ;  and  Fanny's  father  told 
her  that  she  could  not  have  had  a  greater  compliment  than 
making  two  such  friends  as  Mrs.  Thrale  and  Mrs.  Cholmon- 
deley, for  they  were  'severe  and  knowing,  and  afraid  of 
praising  a  tort  et  a  travers,  as  their  opinions  were  liable  to  be 
quoted.' 

Six  months  after  Peg  Woffington  had  left  the  stage  in 
consequence  of  the  sudden  disablement  already  described, 
we  find  Walpole  writing  to  Sir  Horace  Mann : — 

'  I  shall  wind  up  this  letter  with  an  admirable  hon  'mot.  Some- 
body asked  me  at  the  play  the  other  night  what  had  become  of 
Mrs.  "Woffington;  I  replied  she  is  taken  off  by  Colonel  Caesar. 
Lord  Tyrawley  said,  I  suppose  she  was  reduced  to  aut  Ccesar  aut 
Nnllus.' 

Peg  Woffington's  apologists  are  ready  enough  to  denounce 
the  writer  of  the  Memoirs  of  1760  as  a  malicious  and  lying 
pamphleteer,  whenever  he  says  anything  to  their  heroine's 


138  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

discredit ;  but  they  are  also  equally  ready  to  take  from  him 
any  story  to  her  credit,  even  when  it  is  without  the  slightest 
foundation,  and  directly  contradicted  by  other  unimpeachable 
testimony.  This  writer,  who  was  not  always  accurately 
informed,  alleges  that,  in  consequence  of  accidentally  hearing 
a  sermon  by  a  clergyman  who  afterwards  became  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  she  resolved  to  become  a  new  creature, 
discarded  her  lovers,  left  the  stage,  raised  her  mother's 
allowance  from  twenty  to  thirty  pounds  a  year,  constantly 
attended  divine  service,  and  associated  with  none  but 
persons  of  exemplary  virtue.  On  the  sole  authority  of  this 
(otherwise  by  them  discredited)  writer,  Charles  Reade,  in  his 
novel,  makes  her  abandon  the  stage  in  the  zenith  of  her 
charms  and  fame,  and  become  '  a  humble,  pious,  long- 
repentant  Christian.'  Gait,  in  his  Lives  of  the  Players,  tells 
a  similar  stor3^  Dr.  Doran,  in  his  Annals  of  the  Stage, 
calls  her  a  penitent  Magdalen.  And  Augustin  Daly,  while 
changing  the  preacher  from  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
to  John  Wesley,  accepts  the  sermon;  though  he  also  pro- 
pounds the  curious  hypothesis  that  as  Captain  Cholmondeley 
left  the  army  and  became  a  parson,  it  is  probable  that  his 
wife  converted  him,  and  if  so,  that  she  converted  Margaret 
also !  The  truth  is,  there  is  no  evidence  whatever  of  any 
such  conversion;  and  all  that  we  know  of  her  later  days 
is  altogether  inconsistent  with  any  such  edifying  con- 
clusion to  her  story.  She  did  not  voluntarily  abandon 
the  stage,  but  Avas  prevented  from  acting  by  a  disabling 
illness.  And  after  her  involuntary  and,  as  she  evidently 
hoped,  only  temporary  retirement,  she  did  not  associate  with 
none  but  persons  of  exemplary  virtue,  but  lived  with 
Colonel  Caesar  as  his  mistress  to  the  end  of  her  days. 
When,  in  October  1758,  Tate  Wilkinson  was  advertised 
to  appear  at  Drury  Lane  in  Foote's  Diversions  of  the 
Morning,  wherein  he  gave  his  imitations  of  the  more  pro- 


MARGARET  WOFFINGTON  139 

minent  of  the  players,  Mrs.  Woffington  was  greatly  alarmed 
lest  he  should  injure  her  reputation  and  prospects;  and  she 
exhibited  something  very  different  from  a  humble,  devout,and 
charitable  spirit  in  her  observations  and  action  on  the  occasion. 
Tate  Wilkinson  assures  us  that  she  still  '  lived  and  existed 
on  the  flattering  hopes  of  once  more  captivating  the  public 
by  her  remaining  rags  of  beauty ' ;  and  that  she  expressed 
her  astonishment  to  hear  that  he  had  survived  his  presump- 
tion in  '  taking  her  off'  in  Ireland.     She  '  declared  by  the 
living  God !  she  was  amazed  the  fellow  was  not  stoned  to 
death  in  Dublin ' ;  and  deputed  Colonel  Csesar  of  the  Guards 
to  wait  on  Garrick  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to  the  performance 
at  his  theatre.     Colonel  Caesar  accordingly  informed  Garrick 
that  Mrs.  Woffington  was  now  'under  his  protection,'  and 
that  if  the  performance  were  permitted  he  should  call  him 
out.     Garrick  appears  to  have  thought  the  matter  not  worth 
a  duel,  and  gave  Colonel  Coesar  his  word  of  honour  that 
Wilkinson  should  not  imitate  Mrs.  Woffington  in  his  perfor- 
mance at  Drury  Lane.     Although  it  was  rumoured  at  the 
time  that  Colonel  Caesar  and  Mrs.  Woffington  were  secretly 
married,  it  afterwards  became  quite  certain  that  they  were 
not.       Mr.    Daly    wriggles   round    this    in    an   astonishing 
manner.     In  relating  the  foregoing  incident  he  unwarrant- 
ably states  that  when  Colonel  Caesar  called  on  Garrick  '  he 
affirmed  that  as  Mrs.  Woffington  ivas  soon  to  he  his  wife, 
any  aftront  shown  to  her  would  be  resented  by  him.'     And 
we  are  even  invited,  on  the  strength  of  some  '  Mackliniana  ' 
in  an  old  magazine,  to  revise  the  inscription  which  Mrs. 
Cholmondeley  had  engraved  on  her  sister's  tombstone ;  for 
Mr.  Daly  observes :  '  It  has  been  said  that  Peg  Woffington 
died  a  spinster.     The  memorial  tablet  in  the  little  church  at 
Teddington  perpetuates  this  supposition  in   cold  marble.' 
'  This  supposition  '  is  as  cool  as  the  marble  !     According  to 
Tate  Wilkinson,  who  is  confirmed  by  Macklin,  there  was  an 


140  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

agreement  between  Colonel  Caesar  and  Veg  Woffington  that 
whichever  were  the  survivor  should  inherit  all  that  the  other 
possessed ;  and  they  were  each  said  to  have  made  a  will  to 
this  effect.  But  when  she  died,  in  March  1760,  it  was  found 
that,  with  the  exception  of  an  annuity  to  her  mother,  she 
had  left  everything  she  possessed  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Chol- 
mondeley;  thus  disappointing  Colonel  Csesar  (to  quote 
Macklin's  cynical  remark),  as  he  perhaps  might  have  dis- 
appointed her  had  it  been  his  turn  to  go  first.  Her  fortune 
is  said  to  have  been  £5000;  but  according  to  a  banker's 
statement  published  by  Mr.  Daly,  it  probably  amounted  to 
a  good  deal  more.  The  tradition  of  the  piety  of  Peg 
Woffington's  later  years  has  probably  been  supported  by 
another  tradition  that  she  founded  some  almshouses  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  her  villa  at  Teddington.  Dr.  Doran,  the 
Dictionary  of  National  Biography,  and  Mr.  Daly,  all  say 
that  she  built  and  endowed  a  number  of  almshouses  at  Ted- 
dington ;  and  the  last  named  gives  a  photograph  of  a  row  of 
workmen's  cottages,  which  he  leads  us  to  suppose  are  still 
inhabited  by  the  recipients  of  his  heroine's  bounty.  But  the 
plain  truth  is  that  these  cottages  are  not,  and  never  have 
been,  almshouses.  An  octogenarian  parish  official  of  Ted- 
dington remembers  these  workmen's  cottages  being  sold  two 
or  three  times  in  the  course  of  his  lifetime  ;  and  asserts  that 
one  of  the  purchasers,  having  investigated  the  matter,  dis- 
covered that  Peg  Woffington  died  before  the  building  of 
them  was  finished,  that  they  were  sold  by  her  executors,  and 
that  there  is  no  evidence  that  they  were  ever  intended  for 
almshouses  at  all. 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY 

When  Miss  (or  '  Mrs. ')  George  Anne  Bellamy  sat  down  at 
fifty-eiglit  years  of  age  to  write  what  she  termed  an  'Apology' 
for  her  life,  she  found  so  much  to  apologise  for  that  the 
exculpatory  autobiography  occupied  no  less  than  six  printed 
volumes.  Some  critics  have  questioned  the  authenticity  of 
these  Memoirs ;  alleging  that  they  were  entirely  composed 
by  one  Alexander  Bicknell,  an  industrious  eighteenth-century 
litterateur,  who  produced  a  whole  shelf-full  of  other  quasi- 
historical  works,  now  deservedly  forgotten.  But  however 
much  credit  (or  discredit)  may  be  due  to  Bicknell  for  the 
form  and  style  of  the  work,  it  is  plain  enough  that  the 
matter  of  it  must  have  been  communicated  by  the  lady 
herself;  and  even  as  regards  the  form,  although  Bicknell 
may  perhaps  have  supplied  some  of  the  sufficiently  obvious 
moralisings,  and  have  given  here  and  there  a  Johnsonian 
turn  to  a  period,  the  greater  part  of  the  narrative  bears 
indubitable  evidence  on  the  face  of  it  of  having  been  merely 
taken  down  from  the  vivacious  actress's  own  lips.  Miss 
Bellamy's  memory  was  not  always  as  trustworthy  as  might 
be  desired  ;  and  a  number  of  errors  of  detail  concerninsf  the 
theatrical  life  both  of  herself  and  of  her  contemporaries,  to 
some  of  which  Tate  Wilkinson  drew  attention  (and  which 
she  readily  admitted),  may  be  set  down  to  the  fact  of  her 
never  having  kept  a  diary,  or  even  made  any  loose  memo- 
randa of  events  such  as  would  have  assisted  her  recollection. 
She  scarcely  ever  gives  a  date ;  and  the  reader  is  sometimes 
unable  to  tell  whether  months  or  years  have  elapsed  between 


142  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

some  of  the  adventures  which  she  relates.  But  there  seems 
no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  chief  events  of  her  life  are 
related  with  substantial  accuracy;  although  considerable 
allowance  must  of  course  be  made  for  a  natural  inclination 
to  represent  her  own  conduct  and  character  in  as  favourable 
a  light  as  could  by  any  possibility  be  made  reconcileable 
with  the  admitted  '  errors  and  misfortunes '  of  her  decidedly 
unconventional  career.  One  of  the  avowed  objects  of  her 
'  Apology '  was  to  clear  her  character  from  the  false  accusa- 
tions which  had  been  made  by  a  hack  writer,  hired  for 
the  purpose,  in  a  '  wretched  production '  issued  some  four 
and  twenty  years  previously.  But  she  also  hoped  that  a 
candid  recapitulation  of  her  various  '  imprudences,"  and  the 
disastrous  results  which  attended  them,  might  prove  a 
beacon  to  warn  the  young  and  thoughtless  of  her  own  sex 
from  'the  Syren  shore  of  vanity,  dissipation  and  illicit 
pleasures.'  Should  the  relation  of  her  errors  and  their 
consequences  warn  others  to  shun  the  paths  she  had  pur- 
sued, she  felt  that  she  would  have,  after  all,  employed  her 
time  to  some  good  purpose ;  and  she  concluded  her  piteous 
story  by  imploring  her  readers  to  have  the  same  indulgence 
and  compassion  for  her  which  she  claimed  to  have  invari- 
ably shown  to  others.  No  narrative,  certainly,  ever  carried 
its  own  moral  more  clearly  on  the  face  of  it ;  but  it  is  by  no 
means  equally  clear  that  she  had  any  adequate  justification 
for  invoking  Sterne's  Recording  Angel  to  drop  a  tear  upon 
her  faults  and  blot  them  out  for  ever. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  George  Anne  Bellamy's  adven- 
tures began  before  she  was  born.  Her  mother  was  the  only 
daughter  of  a  prosperous  Quaker  farmer  named  Seal,  who, 
in  addition  to  extensive  hop  grounds  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Maidstone,  possessed  a  considerable  estate,  known  as 
Mount  Sion,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Tunbridge  Wells. 
When  farmer  Seal  died  suddenly,  without  leaving  a  will,  his 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  143 

young  and  beautiful  widow  got  rid  of  the  Maidstone  pro- 
perty, and  removed  with  her  child  to  Mount  Sion.  She 
had  several  houses  there,  and  these  she  furnished  with  much 
elegance,  and  let,  during  the  season,  to  persons  of  the  first 
distinction  who  came  to  drink  the  waters  at  Tunbridge 
Wells.  Most  of  the  houses  at  Mount  Sion,  it  may  be 
remarked  in  passing,  are  devoted  to  a  similar  purpose  at 
the  present  day.  Her  beauty  and  fortune  attracted  many 
suitors  ;  and,  after  a  decorous  interval,  she  accepted  a  neigh- 
bouring builder  named  Busby.  Unfortunately  she  married 
him  without  having  any  proper  marriage  settlement;  and 
no  very  long  time  after,  the  whole  of  her  property  was  seized 
to  pay  his  debts.  Amongst  the  distinguished  visitors  who 
occasionally  occupied  one  of  Mrs.  Busby's  houses  was  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  Godfrey,  sister  to  the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough. 
Mrs.  Godfrey  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Mrs.  Busby's  child,  and 
when  she  heard  of  the  disastrous  result  of  the  mother's 
marriage,  she  offered  to  take  the  girl  and  place  her  in  a 
boarding-school  in  Queen's  Square  with  her  own  daughter, 
an  offer  which  of  course  Mrs.  Busby  was  very  thankful  to 
accept.  Miss  Seal,  however,  proved  to  be  a  very  precocious 
young  lady ;  and  at  the  age  of  fourteen  she  eloped  from 
school  with  Lord  Tyrawley ;  who  established  her  in  his 
apartments  in  Somerset  House,  promised  to  marry  her  as 
soon  as  he  had  an  opportunity,  and  in  the  meantime  allowed 
her  the  use  of  his  noble  name.  A  visit  to  his  estates  in  Ire- 
land a  few  months  afterwards,  however,  convinced  his  lord- 
ship that  his  neglect  and  his  steward's  mismanagement  had 
involved  him  in  such  hopeless  debt  that  the  only  way  out  of 
his  difficulties  would  be  to  marry  a  wealthy  heiress.  After 
looking  around,  he  fixed  upon  Lady  Mary  Stewart,  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Blessington,  as  an  eminently  suitable  person, 
seeing  that  her  father  proposed  to  endow  her  with  £30,000. 
But  Lord  Blessington,  having  heard  rumours  of  the  elope- 


144  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

ment  with  Miss  Seal,  wrote  to  that  young  lady  asking  to 
know  the  precise  nature  of  her  connection  with  his  future 
son-in-law.  Miss  Seal,  in  a  rage,  replied  by  at  once  sending 
off"  to  him  every  letter  her  faithless  lover  had  ever  written  to 
her,  including  an  unopened  one  which  she  had  that  instant 
received.  In  this  last-named  letter  Lord  Tyrawley  informed 
his  inamorata  of  the  distressful  condition  of  his  affairs,  and 
of  the  sad  necessity  there  was  for  him  to  marry  at  once  some 
lady  of  fortune.  He  added  that  he  should  stay  no  longer  with 
his  intended  wife  than  was  necessary  to  obtain  her  money, 
when  he  would  immediately  fly  on  the  wings  of  love  to 
share  it  with  her;  that,  though  another  had  his  hand,  she 
alone  possessed  his  heart,  and  was  his  real  wife  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven ;  and  that,  in  order  to  testify  to  the  truth  of 
this,  he  had  made  choice  of  Lady  Mary  Stewart,  who  was 
both  ugly  and  foolish,  in  preference  to  one  with  an  equal 
fortune  who  was  both  beautiful  and  sensible,  lest  an  union 
with  a  more  agreeable  person  might  be  the  means  of 
decreasing  his  affection  for  her.  Lord  Blessington's  feelings 
when  he  read  this  precious  epistle  may  be  readily  imagined. 
He  at  once  forbade  his  daughter  ever  to  see  or  hold  any 
communication  with  Lord  Tyrawley  again.  But  in  this  he  was 
too  late ;  for  Tyrawley,  in  his  hurry  to  have  the  fingering  of 
that  £30,000,  had  already  persuaded  the  young  lady  into 
a  secret  marriage.  It  was  not  too  late,  however,  for  Lord 
Blessington  to  refuse  a  settlement ;  and  as  soon  as  Tyrawley 
found  there  was  no  money  forthcoming,  he  at  once  deter- 
mined to  have  no  more  to  do  with  his  plain-looking  lady. 
He  settled  £800  a  year  on  her;  established  her  in  the 
rooms  in  Somerset  House  from  which  Miss  Seal,  in  her 
distraction,  had  instantly  fled ;  and  immediately  applied 
for,  and  promptly  obtained,  the  post  of  Ambassador  to  the 
Court  of  Lisbon.  Meanwhile,  Miss  Seal  had  gone  to  live 
with  her  mother  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  where  a  son  was 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  145 

born,  who  received  his  father's  family  name  of  O'Hara. 
Mrs.  Butler,  one  of  the  principal  actresses  at  Drury  Lane, 
who  was  a  friend  of  the  mother's,  advised  Miss  Seal  to  try 
her  fortune  on  the  stage,  for,  although  she  exhibited  no 
great  capacity  for  acting,  her  tall,  striking  figure  and 
beautiful  face  would  probably  prove  a  sufficient  attrac- 
tion. She  managed  to  secure  an  engagement  at  the  Dublin 
theatre,  and,  leaving  her  baby  boy  with  her  mother  in 
London,  set  out  for  Ireland.  She  appears  to  have  met  with 
considerable  success,  and  performed  in  Dublin  for  several 
years,  until,  having  had  a  quarrel  with  the  proprietors  of 
the  theatre,  she  suddenly  determined  to  pack  up  her  small 
wardrobe  and  follow  Lord  Tyrawley  to  Portugal.  She  was 
received,  it  appears,  with  '  the  warmest  transports  ' ;  but  the 
wily  diplomatist,  having  had  some  experience  of  the  violence 
of  her  temper,  judiciously  said  nothing  about  a  connection 
he  had  formed  in  Lisbon  with  a  certain  Donna  Anna,  and 
carried  Miss  Seal  oif  to  the  house  of  an  English  merchant 
at  which  he  was  a  frequent  visitor.  While  thus  situated, 
she  attracted  the  attention  of  an  English  officer,  Captain 
Bellamy,  who  proposed  marriage,  and  was  unhesitatingly 
refused.  Captain  Bellamy  knew  nothing  of  her  antecedents, 
but  he  suspected  that  Lord  Tyrawley  somehow  stood  in  his 
way,  so,  by  way  of  clearing  the  ground  for  himself,  he  took 
an  early  opportunity  of  informing  his  inamorata  about 
Donna  Anna,  who  had  recently  presented  his  lordship  with 
a  second  pledge  of  his  affection.  Miss  Seal's  anger  at  this 
intelligence  immediately  induced  her  to  agree  to  marry 
the  Captain ;  who  hurried  matters  with  such  precipitancy 
that  the  nuptial  knot  was  tied,  and  they  had  set  off  in  a 
ship  for  Ireland,  before  Tyrawley  heard  a  word  of  the  matter, 
'  In  a  few  months  after  the  arrival  of  Captain  Bellamy  and 
his  new-married  lady  at  the  place  of  their  destination,' 
writes  George  Anne,  *  to  the  inexpressible  astonishment  and 

K 


146    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

dissatisfaction  of  the  former,  I  made  my  appearance  on  this 
habitable  globe.'  Her  mother,  she  says,  had  been  so  clever, 
that  the  Captain  had  never  entertained  the  slightest  sus- 
picion of  the  real  nature  of  her  relations  with  Lord 
Tyrawley  ;  and  he  was  so  confounded  by  the  sudden  appear- 
ance of  an  unexpected  child,  that  he  immediately  left  the 
kingdom,  and  never  either  saw  or  corresponded  with  his 
wife  again.  Lord  Tyrawley  had  had  enough  of  the  mother  ; 
but  he  appears  to  have  been  pleased  enough  to  own  the 
paternity  of  the  child,  and  sent  instructions  to  his  adjutant, 
Captain  Pye,  to  take  the  infant  and  bring  it  up  with  his 
own  children.  Young  George  Anne  (she  was  called 
Georgiana,  but  had  been  by  mistake  registered  with  one 
masculine  and  one  feminine  name)  accordingly  remained  in 
the  care  of  Mrs.  Pye  for  several  years.  Mrs.  Bellamy  seems 
to  have  parted  with  her  without  regret ;  and  the  account  of 
George  Anne's  first  interview  with  her  mother  some  years 
afterwards  presents  that  parent  in  no  very  amiable  light. 
While  the  child  was  in  London,  on  her  way  to  be  placed  in 
a  convent  school  in  France,  the  maid-servant  who  had  the 
charge  of  her,  seeing  the  mother's  name  in  the  play-bills 
of  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  imagined  they  would  be  no 
unacceptable  visitors. 

'  She  accordingly  inquired  where  my  mother  lodged,  and  without 
asking  her  mistress's  consent,  led  me  to  her.  We  were  instantly 
ushered  upstairs,  where  we  found  my  mother  in  a  genteel  undress. 
Though  1  was  too  young  to  experience  any  attraction  from  her 
beauty,  yet  her  fine  clothes  pleased  me  much,  and  I  ran  towards 
her  with  great  freedom.  But  what  concern  did  my  little  heart 
feel  when  she  rudely  pushed  me  from  her,  and  1  heard  her  exclaim, 
after  viewing  me  with  attention  for  some  moments, — "  My  God  ! 
What  have  you  brought  me  here  1  This  goggle-eyed,  splatter- 
faced,  gabbai't-mouthed  wretch  is  not  my  child  !  Take  her  away  ! " 
I  had  been  so  accustomed  to  endearments  that  I  was  the  more 
sensibly  affected  at  this  unexpected  salutation,  and  I  went  away 
as  much  disgusted  with  my  mother  as  she  could  be  with  me.' 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  147 

George  Anne,  and  her  friend  Miss  Frazer,  remained  in  the 

convent    school  of   the   Ursulines   at   Boulogne   until   the 

former  had  attained  her  eleventh  year.     What  sort  of  an 

education  they  received  we  are  not  told ;  but  they  appear 

to  have  been  very  comfortable  there ;  and  when  writing  her 

memoirs  more  than  half  a  century  afterwards  she  could  not 

help    exclaiming   'Dear,    happy,  much-regretted   mansion! 

How  supremely  blessed  should  I  have  been  had  I  remained 

till  this  hour  within  thy  sacred  walls ! '     But  we  may  take 

it  for  granted  that  the  young  girl  was  pleased  enough  to 

get  away  when,  in  1742,  she  and  her  friend  Miss  Frazer 

were  brought  to  London  and  placed  in  charge  of  a  person 

named  Duval,  formerly  a  domestic  of  Lord  Tyrawley's  and 

now  a  peruke-maker  in  St.  James's  Street,  to  await  her 

father's  return  from  Portugal.     In  November  1742,  Horace 

Walpole  reported  to  Sir  Horace  Mann  that  '  Lord  Tyrawley 

is  come  from  Portugal,  and  has  brought  three  wives  and 

fourteen   children;    one   of  the   former   is    a    Portuguese, 

with  long  hair  plaited  down  to  the  bottom  of  her  back.' 

George    Anne    describes  his   house  in   Stratton   Street   as 

having  more  the  appearance  of  a  Turkish  seraglio  than  the 

mansion  of  an  English  nobleman  ;  and  says  that  although  he 

was  very  pleased  with  her,  Donna  Anna,  who  was  jealous  for 

several  children  of  her  own,  was  not  so  pleased ;  and  neither 

Miss  Frazer  nor  George  Anne  was  particularly  pleased  with 

Donna  Anna.      To  avoid  quarrelling,  therefore,  these   two 

girls  were  boarded  with  a  Mrs.   Jones,  who  kept  a  shop 

much  frequented  by  ladies  of  quality  in  St.  James's  Street, 

until  Miss  Frazer  took  the  measles  and  died,  when  George 

Anne  fretted  so  much  that  Lord  Tyrawley  took  a  house  at 

Bushy  and  removed  there  with  his  miscellaneous  family, 

including,  as    George  Anne    reports,   'Donna  Anna,  three 

girls  all  by  different  mothers,  and  myself.'     The  younger 

boys  had  been  sent  to  school  at  Marylebone ;  and  the  eldest, 


148  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

George  Anne's  brother,  was  at  sea.  Not  long  after  their 
removal  to  Bushy,  Donna  Anna  had  the  impudence  to 
assume  the  title  of  Lady  Tyrawley  at  a  pleasure  party, 
whereupon  his  lordship  promptly  packed  her  and  the 
other  girls  back  to  London,  keeping  George  Anne  with 
him  alone.  She  appears  to  have  been  his  favourite ;  partly 
because  she  resembled  him  in  features,  partly  because  he 
thought  she  had  inherited  some  of  his  wit.  His  compan}^ 
soon  perceived  that  the  best  way  to  pay  court  to  him  was 
by  being  lavish  in  their  praise  of  her ;  whereby  she  came 
in  for  a  good  deal  more  professed  admiration  and  flattery 
than  was  at  all  good  for  her.  Even  the  superfine  Lord 
Chesterfield  condescended  to  bestow  upon  her  his  '  elegant 
praises ' ;  and  it  appears  to  have  been  only  a  certain  crooked 
little  great  man  at  Twickenham  who  had  the  courage  to 
place  her  on  her  proper  level.  She  could  repeat  the  first 
three  books  of  Pope's  Homer  by  rote ;  and  having  one  day 
persuaded  her  father  to  let  her  accompany  him  on  a  visit 
to  the  poet,  she  looked  forward  to  creating  a  great  impres- 
sion by  her  literary  acquirements  and  wit.  But  as  soon  as 
they  were  shown  in,  Mr.  Pope  rang  for  his  housekeeper  and 
desired  her  to  take  little  '  Miss '  into  the  gardens  and  give 
her  as  much  fruit  as  she  chose  to  eat ;  whereat  '  Miss '  felt 
herself  to  have  been  more  humiliated  than  ever  before  in 
her  short  life.  But  this  brief  period  of  splendour  as  the 
acknowledged  and  favourite  daughter  of  a  lord  was  as  brief 
as  it  was  bright.  Within  a  year  Lord  Tyrawley  left  London 
for  Russia,  to  which  country  he  had  been  appointed 
Ambassador;  leaving  George  Anne  in  charge  of  a  lady  of 
quality  in  London,  with  an  allowance  of  £100  a  year  for  her 
personal  expenses.  Then  her  troubles  began.  Her  mother 
had  meanwhile  been  married  to  and  deserted  by  a  scape- 
grace officer,  son  of  Sir  George  Walter,  young  enough  to 
have  been  her  own  child.     Young  Walter,  when  ordered  to 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  149 

join  his  regiment  at  Gibraltar,  had  not  only  taken  a  younger 
woman  abroad  with  him,  but  had  stripped  his  wife  of  every 
valuable  she  possessed.  In  her  distress  Mrs,  Walter 
implored  George  Anne  to  live  with  her  in  order  that  she 
might  share  in  the  annuity  of  £100,  and  naturally  enough 
the  young  girl  at  once  responded  to  her  mother's  appeal. 
But  when  her  next  quarter's  allowance  became  due,  the  two 
wretched  women  found  to  their  dismay  that  payment  had 
been  stopped,  and  that  Duval  had  received  a  letter  from 
Lord  Tyrawley  in  which  he  said  that,  as  George  Anne  had 
returned  to  her  mother,  not  only  would  he  make  her  no 
further  allowance,  but  he  renounced  her  for  ever. 

Her  associates  were  now  exclusively  her  mother's  friends 
in  the  theatrical  profession.  One  day  as  she  and  the 
daughters  of  Rich,  the  proprietor  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre, 
were  acting  Othello  for  their  own  amusement,  Rich  himself 
happened  to  overhear  them ;  and  he  was  so  charmed  with 
the  tones  of  her  voice  that  he  there  and  then  offered  her 
an  engagement  in  his  theatre  if  she  would  consent  to 
undergo  the  necessary  study.  At  this  time,  according  to 
her  own  story,  she  was  only  fourteen  years  of  age ;  but 
there  is  no  doubt  that  she  never  knew  for  certain  in  what 
year  she  was  born,  and  if  we  take  the  date  1727  (which  is 
given  by  Chetwood)  as  the  year  of  her  birth,  she  would  be 
seventeen.  Her  figure,  she  says,  was  not  inelegant,  she  had 
a  powerful  voice,  was  as  light  as  a  gossamer,  possessed  of 
inexhaustible  spirits,  and  of  some  humour.  But  when  Rich 
proposed  to  bring  her  out  in  the  part  of  Monimia  in 
The  Orphan,  Quin,  who  was  at  that  time  the  autocrat  of 
the  theatre,  was  flatly  against  the  experiment.  Rich,  who 
usually  deferred  to  Quin  in  everything,  on  this  occasion 
showed  unwonted  determination,  and  said  he  would  be 
master  in  his  own  house.  But  the  offended  Quin  refused 
to  attend  the  rehearsals,  and  two  other  actors,  who  were 


150  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

to  play  the  parts  of  Monimia's  lovers,  likewise  refused  to 
put  in  an  appearance.  When  she  made  her  debut,  on 
22nd  November  1744,  it  seemed  at  first  as  though  Quin's 
prognostications  were  to  be  justified.  Throughout  the  first, 
second,  and  third  acts  she  appeared  to  be  dazed,  both 
memory  and  voice  completely  failing  her ;  but  the  audience 
was  fortunately  kind  and  encouraging,  and  to  the  exulta- 
tion of  the  manager,  and  the  astonishment  of  everybody 
else,  in  the  fourth  act  she  seemed  to  be  suddenly  inspired, 
'  blazed  out  with  meridian  splendour,'  and  scored  a  triumph- 
ant success,  Quin,  who  was  as  fascinated  as  he  was 
surprised,  lifted  her  up  in  a  transport  of  enthusiasm,  ex- 
claiming '  Thou  art  a  divine  creature,  and  the  true  spirit 
is  in  thee  !'  From  that  moment  the  old  actor  became  one 
of  her  firmest  friends.  He  at  once  inquired  into  her  cir- 
cumstances, and  finding  her  to  be  a  daughter  of  his  old 
acquaintance  Lord  Tyrawley,  he  sent  her  mother  a  bank 
note  in  a  blank  cover  by  the  penny  post,  and  gave  George 
Anne  a  general  invitation  to  his  famous  supper  parties ;  at 
the  same  time  humorously  enjoining  her  never  to  come 
alone,  as  he  was  not  yet  too  old  to  be  beyond  censure.  All 
the  literati  of  the  time  frequented  these  parties ;  and  she 
declares  that  her  judgment  was  more  enlightened  by  the 
conversation  she  heard  at  Quin's  table  than  it  would  have 
been  if  she  had  read  every  book  that  came  out  during  her 
whole  lifetime. 

The  beautiful  young  actress  now  became  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal attractions  of  Covent  Garden ;  and  as  Rich  professed 
himself  unable  to  pay  her  a  salary  proportionate  to  her 
astonishing  success,  it  was  agreed  that  she  should  have  one 
of  his  nights  for  a  free  benefit.  Having  few  friends,  she 
did  not  anticipate  that  this  would  prove  a  particularly 
lucrative  arrangement;  but  she  was  most  agreeably  dis- 
appointed.     Some  days  before  the  date  which  had  been 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  151 

fixed  upon,  she  received  a  message  from  the  eccentric 
Duchess  of  Queensberry  asking  her  to  call  at  Queensberry 
House  the  next  day  by  twelve  o'clock.  She  accordingly 
dressed  herself  as  finely  as  possible,  took  a  chair,  sent  in 
her  name,  and  was  dumfounded  when  the  servant  returned 
mth  a  message  to  the  effect  that  her  Grace  knew  no  such 
person.  The  mystery  of  this  peculiar  treatment  was  not 
lessened  when  in  the  theatre  that  evening,  on  Prince  Lob- 
kowitz  wanting  to  engage  a  box  for  the  Corps  Diplomatique 
on  the  occasion  of  her  benefit,  she  found  that  she  had  not 
a  single  box  to  dispose  of,  and  was  informed  that  the 
Duchess  of  Queensberry  had  engaged  every  one  that  was 
to  be  had,  besides  sending  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
tickets.  Another  note  from  the  Duchess  making  a  second 
appointment  for  the  following  morning,  which  she  found 
awaiting  her  at  home,  was  a  further  surprise.  Fearful  of  a 
second  mortification,  and  determining  that  at  any  rate 
nobody  but  herself  should  know  anything  about  it,  she 
dressed  herself  as  quietly  as  possible  next  morning,  and 
set  out  on  foot  for  Queensberry  House.  This  time  she 
was  immediately  admitted,  and  on  being  shown  up  to  the 
Duchess's  apartment  was  addressed  as  follows : — 

' "  Well,  young  woman  !  What  business  had  you  in  a  chair 
yesterday  1  It  was  a  fine  morning,  and  you  might  have  walked. 
You  look  as  you  ought  to  do  now "  (observing  my  go\\Ti). 
"  Nothing  is  so  vulgar  as  wearing  silk  in  a  morning.  Simplicity 
best  becomes  youth.  And  you  do  not  stand  in  need  of  orna- 
ments. Therefore  dress  always  plain,  except  when  you  are  upon 
the  stage."  Whilst  her  Grace  was  talking  in  this  manner  to  me, 
she  was  cleaning  a  picture ;  which  I  officiously  requesting  her 
permission  to  do,  she  hastily  replied — "  Don't  you  think  I  have 
domestics  enough  if  I  did  not  choose  to  do  it  myself  1"  I  apolo- 
gised for  my  presumption,  by  informing  her  Grace  that  I  had 
been  for  some  time  at  Jones's,  where  I  had  been  flattered  that  I 
had  acquired  a  tolerable  proficiency  in  that  art.  The  Duchess 
upon  this  exclaimed— "Are  you  the  girl  I  have  heard  Chesterfield 


152  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

speak  of  1 "  Upon  my  answering  that  I  had  the  honour  of  being 
known  to  his  lordship,  she  ordered  a  canvas  bag  to  be  taken  out 
of  her  cabinet,  saying,  "To  no  person  can  Queensberry  give  less 
than  gold.  There  are  two  hundred  and  fifty  guineas,  and  twenty 
for  the  Duke's  ticket  and  mine ;  but  I  must  give  you  something 
for  Tyrawley's  sake."— She  then  took  a  bill  from  her  pocket-book, 
which  having  put  into  my  hands,  she  told  me  her  coach  was 
ordered  to  carry  me  home,  lest  any  accident  should  happen  now 
I  had  such  a  charge  about  me.' 

That  she  had  numerous  admirers  among  the  fine  gentle- 
men about  town  is  not  to  be  wondered  at;  and  on  this 
subject  her  good  friend  Quin  gave  her  a  word  of  Avarning. 
Calling  her  one  day  to  his  dressing-room  he  said, '  My  dear 
girl,  you  are  vastly  followed,  I  hear.  Do  not  let  the  love 
of  finery,  or  any  other  inducement,  prevail  upon  you  to 
commit  an  indiscretion.  Men  in  general  are  rascals.  You 
are  young  and  engaging,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  doubly 
cautious.  If  you  want  anything  in  my  power,  which  money 
can  purchase,  come  to  me  and  say — "  James  Quin,  give  me 
such  a  thing,"  and  my  purse  shall  be  always  at  your  service.' 
She  was  affected  to  tears,  she  says,  by  the  kindness  and 
generosity  of  the  man  whom  she  had  already  come  to  love 
as  a  father ;  and  perhaps  she  gave  some  heed  to  his  good 
advice — for  a  time.  At  any  rate,  when  Mr.  Montgomery 
(afterwards  Sir  George  Metham)  became  very  pressing  in 
his  attentions,  she  gave  him  to  understand  that  she  would 
not  listen  to  any  proposals  but  marriage  and  a  coach.  He 
told  her  bluntly,  but  honestly,  that  his  dependence  on  his 
father,  whose  consent  he  could  not  hope  to  procure,  would 
prevent  his  complying  with  the  first  of  her  conditions ;  and, 
as  for  the  second,  he  could  not  afford  that  in  any  case.  He 
was  deeply  smitten,  and  retired  to  his  father's  place  in 
Yorkshire  to  get  over  his  disappointment ;  but  his  candour 
had  made  a  very  favourable  impression  on  the  mind  of  the 
the  young  damsel  of  seventeen ;  so,  at  least,  she  says ;  but 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  L53 

we  may  shrewdly  suspect  that  his  good  looks  and  elegant 
manner  were  at  least  equally  potent.  A  less  scrupulous 
admirer  was  Lord  Byron,  a  nobleman  who,  unlike  his  illus- 
trious descendant  the  poet,  had  nothing  but  his  title  and  an 
agreeable-looking  face  to  boast  about.  Byron's  vanity  was 
hurt  by  her  decisive  rejection  of  his  proposals;  and  he 
formed  a  plot  to  kidnap  her.  One  of  his  friends,  a  noble 
earl  whose  name  is  not  given,  who  was  engaged  in  a  similar 
pursuit  of  one  of  her  theatrical  friends,  called  at  her  house 
in  Southampton  Street  one  day  to  inform  her  that  this 
friend  of  hers  was  in  a  coach  at  the  end  of  the  street  and 
wished  to  speak  with  her  for  a  moment.  When  George 
Anne  at  once  unsuspectingly  ran  out,  without  waiting  even 
to  put  on  a  hat,  Byron's  noble  friend  suddenly  hoisted  her 
into  the  coach  and  drove  off  as  fast  as  the  horses  could 
gallop.  During  the  drive  his  lordship  cynically  told  her 
that  she  would  do  well  to  consent  to  make  his  friend  happy, 
for  Byron  was  shortly  to  be  married  to  Miss  Shaw,  whose 
large  fortune  would  enable  him  to  provide  handsomely  for 
any  one  whom  he  took  under  his  protection.  At  length  the 
coach  stopped  in  what  was  then  a  lonely  place,  fronting 
the  fields,  at  the  top  of  North  Audley  Street,  she  was  carried 
into  her  abductor's  house,  and  the  nobleman  left  her  there, 
saying  he  was  going  to  prepare  a  lodging  for  her  at  a  mantua- 
maker's  in  Broad  Street,  Carnaby  Market.  By  one  of  those 
extraordinary  freaks  of  fortune  which  are  supposed  to  happen 
only  in  novels,  George  Anne's  brother,  just  returned  home 
from  sea,  arrived  at  the  top  of  Southampton  Street  just  as 
the  coach  was  driving  away  with  his  sister.  On  being  in- 
formed of  what  had  happened,  he  immediately  went  on  to 
the  earl's  house,  and  finding  that  his  lordship  had  gone  out 
for  a  short  time,  walked  about  within  sight  of  the  door  to 
await  his  return.  The  earl  seems  to  have  been  ready  enough 
with  a  plausible  story,  and  convinced  O'Hara  that  George 


154  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Anne  had  been  a  consenting  party  to  Byron's  proposals ;  so 
that  when  they  walked  into  the  room  together,  and  she  flew 
into  the  arms  of  her  brother,  the  young  sailor  shook  her  off 
so  roughly  that  she  fell  insensible  to  the  ground.  However, 
before  he  left  the  house  he  gave  the  earl  so  sound  a  thrash- 
ing, and  so  effectually  frightened  him  with  the  threat  of  a 
prosecution,  that  his  lordship  promptly  took  himself  out  of 
the  way,  after  leaving  instructions  with  his  housekeeper  to 
pack  the  young  woman  off  to  the  mantua-maker's  in  Broad 
Su'eet  as  speedily  as  possible.  Meanwhile,  O'Hara  called  on 
Lord  Byron,  but,  crediting  his  lordship's  assurances  that  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  affair,  the  impulsive  sailor, 
satisfied  with  the  drubbing  he  had  administered  to  the  other 
peer,  made  no  further  inquiries,  returned  to  his  ship  at 
Portsmouth,  and  left  his  abandoned  sister  to  her  fate.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  we  have  only  George  Anne's  own 
uncorroborated  account  of  this  affair.  Her  '  elopement,'  she 
tells  us,  was  grossly  misrepresented  in  the  newspapers,  Avhich 
of  course  is  likely  enough.  At  the  same  time  it  is  not  easy 
to  reconcile  her  own  account  of  the  matter  with  such  com- 
plete innocence  on  her  part  as  she  would  have  us  believe  in. 
Seeing  that,  according  to  her  own  story,  she  had  thus  been 
dramatically  rescued  from  her  captor  within  a  few  hours, 
and  before  any  further  harm  could  befall  her,  and  that  the 
mantua-maker  to  whose  house  she  was  removed  turned  out 
to  be  her  own  dressmaker,  it  does  not  seem  very  clear  why 
she  should  not  have  at  once  returned  home.  We  are  asked 
to  believe  that,  instead  of  following  this  natural  course,  she 
wrote  to  her  mother  to  assure  that  experienced  lady  of  her 
innocence,  and  that  the  wily  deceiver  of  Captain  Bellamy 
had  now  become  so  abnormally  pious,  and  was  so  disgusted 
at  having  a  daughter  who  was  in  any  way  concerned  in  an 
elopement  with  a  peer,  that  the  letters  were  returned  un- 
opened.    This  harsh  treatment  brought  on  a  fever;   after 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  155 

which  it  was  necessaiy  for  the  young  lady  to  go  into  the 
country  to  recuperate;  so  she  bethought  herself  of  some 
Quaker  relations   at   Braintree  in  Essex,  a  visit  to  whom 
would  not  only  be  beneficial  to  her  health  but  to  her  pocket 
also,  for  an  aunt  in  that  family  had  recently  died  and  left 
her  a  legacy  of  £300,  which  in  her  present  circumstances 
it  would  be  extremely  convenient  for  her  to  receive.     She 
went  down  to  Braintree  so  plainly  dressed  (from  necessity 
rather  than  design,  we  are  assured)  that  her  Quaker  relatives 
welcomed  her  as  a  member  of  the  sect.     And  although  her 
aunt's  legacy  had  been  left  her  on  condition  that  she  did 
not  follow  her   mother's  example   of  going  on  the  stage, 
George  Anne   did   not   think  it  necessary   to   inform   her 
country  cousins  that  she  had  already  made  her  appearance 
on  the  boards,  but  quietly  pocketed  the  money.     When,  a 
few  weeks  later,  a  chance  visitor  from  London  let  the  cat 
out  of  the  bag,  her  visit  came  to  an  abrupt  end ;  and,  not 
wishing  to  return  to  town  so  soon,  she  took  lodgings  in  a 
farmhouse  at  Ingatestone.     While  there,  she  was  surprised 
by  a  visit  from  her  mother,  who  (partly  convinced,  perhaps, 
by  the  £300  legacy)  had  suddenly  become  assured  of  her 
daughter's  innocence,  and  was  anxious  for  a  reconciliation. 
They  returned  to  London  together ;  and  shortly  afterwards 
she  accepted  an  engagement  from  Sheridan  to  play  at  his 
Dublin  theatre. 

Immediately  on  her  arrival  in  Dublin  she  called  on  Lord 
Tyrawley's  sister.  Miss  O'Hara,  and  so  favourably  impressed 
that  lady,  that  she  was  introduced  as  Miss  O'Hara's  niece 
into  the  most  fashionable  society.  She  gave  her  aunt,  she 
says,  a  full  and  frank  account  of  her  affairs,  without  making 
the  slightest  reservations,  for — 

'  It  is  an  established  maxim  with  me  never  to  rest  satisfied  with 
gaining  the  good  opinion  of  any  person  by  halves.  In  endeavouring 
to  acquire  a  friend  it  is  necessary  to  let  them  into  the  whole  of 


156  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

your  situation,  otherwise  you  conduct  yourself  with  the  same 
absurdity  as  if  while  you  consulted  a  physician  you  concealed  the 
symptoms  or  nature  of  your  disorder  from  him.  Where  a  dis- 
closure of  secrets  becomes  needful,  an  open  implicit  confidence  is 
required,  otherwise  the  chance  of  success  is  greatly  against  you.' 

Certain  philosophical  remarks  of  this  character,  which  are 
to  be  found  here  and  there  throughout  Miss  Bellamy's 
Apology,  have  usually  been  credited  to  the  literary  gentle- 
man who  assisted  her  in  the  composition  of  the  book ;  but 
he  was  certainly  not  at  hand  forty  years  previously  when 
she  so  sensibly  acted  on  the  principle  here  laid  down.  Miss 
O'Hara's  protection,  and  the  friendships  she  in  consequence 
formed  Avith  Mrs.  Butler,  Miss  St.  Leger,  and  other  leaders 
of  fashion  in  Dubhn,  were  not  only  privately  a  great  grati- 
fication, but  were  also  of  much  service  to  her  in  her  pro- 
fession, making  the  whole  of  the  Irish  aristocracy  her 
enthusiastic  patrons  in  the  theatre.  It  gave  her,  in  fact, 
so  assured  a  position  that  even  the  great  Garrick  found  he 
could  not  venture  to  offend  her  with  impunity.  In  her 
ao-reement  with  Sheridan  she  appears  to  have  stipulated 
for  the  choice  of  certain  parts ;  but  when  King  John  was 
played  during  the  time  when  Garrick  was  temporarily  of 
the  company,  he  objected  to  her  playing  the  part  of  Con- 
stance, on  account  of  her  youth,  and  Mrs.  Furnival  was 
substituted.  George  Anne  had  a  milder  temper  than  her 
mother ;  but  she  did  not  intend  to  be  shelved  in  this  manner 
without  a  protest.  She  flew  to  Mrs.  Butler  and  other  of  her 
fashionable  friends,  who  espoused  her  quarrel  with  such 
effect  that  on  the  night  King  John  was  played  with  Mrs. 
Furnival  as  Constance  the  theatre  scarcely  contained  £40 ; 
but  as  soon  as  the  play  was  again  produced  with  Miss 
Bellamy  restored  to  her  part,  the  house  was  crowded,  and 
enough  people  were  turned  away  from  the  doors  to  have 
filled  it  over  again.     This,  she  says,  was  the  first  theatrical 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  157 

humiliation  which  'the  immortal  Roscius'  ever  met  with. 
But  she  takes  care  to  let  us  know  it  was  not  the  last  he 
received,  even  at  her  hands ;  for  when  he  fixed  upon  Jane 
Shore  for  the  first  of  his  two  benefits,  and  asked  her  to 
perform  that  character  for  him,  she  declined,  alleging  the 
same  objection  he  had  made  to  her  playing  Constance, 
namely  her  youth.  But  Garrick  was  now  thoroughly  alive 
to  her  vakie  as  a  '  draw '  in  Dubhn,  and  he  not  only  went 
about  imploring  Mrs.  Butler  and  other  friends  to  persuade 
Miss  Bellamy  to  play  this  part,  but  also  wrote  a  letter  to 
herself  in  which  he  said  that  if  she  would  so  oblige  him,  he 
would  write  her  '  a  goody-goody  epilogue,'  which,  with  the 
help  of  her  eyes,  would  do  more  mischief  than  ever  the  flesh 
or  the  devil  had  done  since  the  world  began. 

'  This  ridiculous  epistle  he  directed  "  To  My  Soul's  Idol,  the 
Beautified  Ophelia";  and  delivered  to  his  servant  with  orders 
to  bring  it  to  me.  But  the  fellow,  having  some  more  agreeable 
amusement  to  pursue  than  going  on  his  master's  errands,  gave  it 
to  a  porter  in  the  street,  without  having  attended  to  the  curious 
direction  that  was  on  it.  The  porter,  upon  reading  the  subscrip- 
tion, and  not  knowing  throughout  the  whole  city  of  Dublin  any 
lady  of  quality  who  bore  the  title  either  of  "  My  Soul's  Idol "  or 
"The  Beautified  Ophelia,"  naturally  concluded  that  it  was  to 
answer  some  jocular  purpose.  He  accordingly  carried  it  to  his 
master,  who  happened  to  be  a  newsman;  and  by  this  means  it 
got  the  next  day  into  the  public  prints.' 

Garrick's  mortification  may  be  easily  imagined ;  but  after 
this,  he  and  Miss  Bellamy  were  reconciled ;  and  he  became 
a  frequent  visitor  at  the  houses  of  Colonel  Butler  and  other 
of  her  aristocratic  friends.  But  there  was  subsequent  trouble 
Avith  another  person  concerned.  Mrs.  Furnival  was  deeply 
ao'o-rieved  at  havinsc  been  ousted  from  the  part  of  Constance ; 
and  before  long  found  w^hat  she  thought  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity for  paying  off  the  score.  She  was  cast  for  the  part 
of  Octavia  in  All  for  Love,  Miss  Bellamy  being  the  Cleopatra. 


158  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Tragedy  queens  were  rather  queerly  clothed  in  those  days ; 
and  for  Cleopatra  the  manager  had  bought  in  London  a 
superb  dress  which  had  belonged  to  the  Princess  of  Wales, 
and  had  been  worn  only  once  on  the  King's  birthday.     This 
dress  had  been  taken  in  so  as  to  fit  George  Anne's  small 
waist ;  and  a  number  of  diamonds,  kindly  lent  for  the  occa- 
sion by  her  friend  Mrs.  Butler,  had  been  sown  on  to  made  it 
additionally  splendid.     As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  just  as 
George  Anne's  dresser  and  mantua-maker  had  finished  this 
piece  of  work  they  were  called  out  of  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Furnival,  happening  to  pass  by  on  her  way  to   her   own 
dressing-room,  was  consumed  with  envy  to  think  that  her 
hated  rival  was  to  appear  that  night  in  such  a  splendid 
new  costume.     With  the  idea,  presumably,  that  fine  feathers 
make  fine   birds,   and   not   considering   how  inappropriate 
it  would  be  for  the  character  she  was  about  to  play,  Mrs. 
Furnival  pounced  upon  the  robe,  carried  it  off  to  her  own 
room,  and  immediately  set  to  work  to  let  it  out  again  to 
fit  her  ampler  proportions.     When  Miss  Bellamy's  dresser 
returned  and    discovered    what    had    happened,    she   was 
almost  frantic;    and  as   Mrs.   Furnival  refused   to   return 
the  dress   when  requested   in    a    civil   manner,   the  hot- 
tempered  Irish  girl  attacked  her  mistress's  rival  literally 
tooth  and  nail.     But  it  was  all  to  no  purpose  :  Mrs.  Furnival 
remained  the  victor,  and  merely  condescended  to  promise 
that  the  jewels  should  be  carefully  returned  after  the  per- 
formance was  over.      Nobody  else  seems   to   have   known 
what  had  been  going  on  in  the  rival  dressing-rooms ;  and 
some  surprise   was    expressed    when    Cleopatra    appeared 
dressed  with  all  the  simplicity  of  a  Roman  matron;  but 
when  Octavia  subsequently  came  on  attired  in  the  silver 
tissue  and  jewels  of  the  Egyptian  queen,  players  and  public 
alike  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment.    When  Sheridan, 
who  had  to  introduce  Octavia  to  the  Emperor,  saw  the  jay 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  159 

coming  on,  in  all  her  incongruous  borrowed  plumes,  he  was 
so  confounded  that  it  was  some  minutes  before  he  could 
go  on  with  his  part.  And  just  at  this  moment  of  silent 
astonishment  the  whole  house  heard  Mrs.  Butler  exclaim 
from  her  box—'  Good  Heavens,  the  woman  has  got  on  my 
diamonds ! '  It  was  a  case  of  the  biter  bit ;  for  at  the  end 
of  the  act  the  audience,  though  knowing  nothing  of  what 
had  happened  behind  the  scenes,  shouted  out  'No  more 
Furnival !  No  more  Furnival ! '  and  that  disappointed 
lady  had  a  succession  of  fits,  while  another  actress  dressed 
to  continue  the  part  for  the  rest  of  the  play. 

While  in  Dublin,  Miss  Bellamy  seems  to  have  appeared 
almost  every  evening  throughout  the  season,  sometimes  in 
characters  very  unfit  for  her ;  but,  always  devoting  much  ap- 
plication and  study  to  her  parts,  she  became  equally  success- 
ful in  low  and  high  comedy  and  in  tragedy.  Her  aristocratic 
connections,  no  doubt,  made  her  position  somewhat  less  in- 
tolerable than  that  of  other  actresses  in  an  Irish  theatre ; 
and  the  following  instance  of  rudeness  which  she  records, 
though  characteristic  enough  of  the  theatrical  manners  of 
the  day,  was  probably  unique  in  her  own  experience — 

'  A  gentleman  who  stood  near  the  stage  door  took  a  very  un- 
allowable method  of  showing  his  approbation.  Being  a  little 
flushed  with  liquor— or  otherwise  I  am  persuaded  he  could  not 
have  been  capable  of  the  rudeness — he  put  his  lips  to  the  back  of 
my  neck  as  I  passed  him.  Justly  enraged  at  so  great  an  insult, 
and  not  considering  that  the  Lord-Lieutenant  was  present,  or 
that  it  was  committed  before  such  a  number  of  spectators,  I 
instantly  turned  about  and  gave  the  gentleman  a  slap  in  the 
face.  Violent  and  unbecoming  as  this  sudden  token  of  resentment 
appeared,  it  received  the  approbation  of  Lord  Chesterfield,  who 
rose  from  his  seat  and  applauded  me  for  some  time  with  his  hands  ; 
the  whole  audience,  as  you  may  suppose,  following  his  example. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  act,  Major  Macartney  came,  by  order  of 
his  Excellency,  to  Mr.  St.  Leger  (that  was  the  gentleman's  name) 
requesting  that  he  would  make  a  public  apology  for  this  forgetful- 


160  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

ness  of  decorum ;  which  he  accordingly  did.  I  have  reason  to 
believe  that  this  incident  contributed  to  a  reform  which  Mr. 
Sheridan  with  great  propriety  soon  after  made.  Agreeable  to  this 
regulation,  no  gentlemen  in  future  were  to  be  admitted  behind  the 
scenes.' 

Amongst  tlie  acquaintances  which  Miss  Bellamy  made  at 
this  time  in  Dublin,  mention  must  be  made  of  the  Gunnings, 
afterwards  so  celebrated  for  their  beauty.  She  relates  that 
as  she  was  one  day  returning  from  rehearsal,  she  heard  a 
sound  of  lamentation  proceeding  from  a  house  at  the  bottom 
of  Britain  Street,  and  with  characteristic  impulsiveness, 
pushed  past  some  evil-looking  men  who  were  guarding  the 
door,  to  inquire  if  she  could  be  of  any  assistance.  Inside 
she  found  a  woman  of  a  most  elegant  figure,  surrounded  by 
four  beautiful  girls  and  a  young  boy,  all  evidently  in  a  state 
of  the  utmost  distress.  The  lady,  who  was  Mrs.  Gunning, 
informed  her  that,  in  consequence  of  living  beyond  his 
income,  her  husband  had  been  obliged  to  retire  into  the 
country  to  avoid  arrest.  Her  brother,  Lord  Mayo,  would 
not  listen  to  her  solicitations  for  help ;  and  the  men  at  the 
door  were  bailiffs,  who  would  shortly  turn  her  and  her 
children  into  the  street.  George  Anne's  sympathies  were 
aroused ;  and  after  a  short  consultation  it  was  arranged  that 
her  man-servant  should  come  after  nightfall  and  take  away 
everything  that  could  be  thrown  out  to  him  from  the 
drawing-room  windoAv ;  that  the  two  eldest  girls  (who  after- 
wards became  Countess  of  Coventry  and  Duchess  of  Argyll 
respectively)  should  stay  with  her  as  long  as  necessary. 
The  other  children  were  to  be  placed  with  an  aunt,  and 
Mrs.  Gunning  was  to  join  her  husband  and  assist  him  in 
the  settlement  of  his  affairs.  The  two  girls  were  most 
grateful  for  the  asylum  thus  afforded  them,  and  professed 
great  affection  for  their  youthful  protector — for  it  must  be 
remembered  that  George  Anne  was  herself  at  this  time  only 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  161 

a  girl  of  eighteen.  She  tells  a  curious  story  of  a  visit  they 
all  paid  one  day  to  a  reputed  witch  in  Dublin ;  a  story  that, 
if  not  afterwards  somewhat  altered  to  fit  the  facts,  is  surely 
one  of  the  most  striking  cases  of  for  tune -telling  on  record. 
This  old  hag  had  acquired  such  fame  for  her  prognostications 
that  she  was  popularly  known  as  '  Madame  Fortune.'  In 
order  to  give  her  no  clue  to  their  identity,  the  three  girls 
dressed  themselves  as  meanly  as  possible ;  walked  instead  of 
driving  to  her  dwelling ;  and,  by  way  of  further  deception, 
George  Anne  wore  a  wedding  ring  which  she  had  borrowed 
for  the  occasion.  What  happened  was  thus  described  by 
Miss  Bellamy  forty  years  afterwards : — 

'  Upon  Miss  Molly  being  ushered  into  her  presence,  she  with- 
out any  hesitation  told  her  that  she  would  be  titled  (so  she  ex- 
pressed herself)  hut  far  from  happy.  When  Miss  Betsy  appeared, 
she  declared  that  she  would  be  great  to  a  degree,  and  that  she  would 
be  happy  in  the  connections  which  conduced  to  that  greatness  ; 
but  from  a  want  of  health  (which  alone  can  give  value  to  either 
riches  or  to  grandeur)  she  would  find  considerable  abatement  to 
that  happiness.— When  your  humble  servant  presented  herself  she 
said  I  might  take  off  the  ring  I  wore,  as  I  never  was,  nor  ever 
should  be  married,  unless  I  played  the  fool  in  my  old  age.  To 
this  she  added  that  opulence  would  court  me,  and  flattery  follow 
me,  notwithstanding  which,  through  my  own  folly,  I  should  be 
brought  to  disgrace.' 

George  Anne  maintained  an  affectionate  correspondence 
with  these  s'irls  for  some  time  after  she  had  left  Dublin  and 
returned  to  Covent  Garden ;  but  some  years  later,  one  of 
them,  then  Countess  of  Coventry,  publicly  insulted  her  in 
the  theatre  by  laughing  aloud  just  at  the  most  tragic  part 
of  her  performance  of  Juliet.  The  London  audience  then 
did  what  Tate  W^ilkinson  says  no  provincial  audience  in 
those  days  would  have  dared  to  do,  viz. :  so  angrily  resented 
the  affront  to  one  of  their  popular  favourites  that  the  lady 
of  quality  found  it   expedient  to  retire  from  the  theatre. 

L 


162  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Next  morning,  the  indignant  actress,  who  had  at  one  time 
lent  Maria  Gunning  some  money,  for  which  she  possessed 
a  promissory  note,  sent  a  man  to  Lord  Coventry's  to  demand 
payment.  The  money  was  promised,  but  it  was  never  paid ; 
and  when  George  Anne  came  to  write  her  Apology,  she  not 
only  told  the  whole  story,  but  also  printed  a  friendly  letter 
to  herself  from  Maria  Gunning,  which,  though  not  directly 
bearing  in  any  way  upon  our  present  history,  may  be  here 
given  in  extenso  as  an  interesting  specimen  of  the  composi- 
tion and  spelling  of  an  eighteenth-century  young  lady  of 
quality.  The  occasional  gaps,  it  should  be  explained,  are 
not  due  to  a  desire  to  suppress  anything,  but  merely  to  the 
fact  that,  after  forty  years  of  not  very  careful  preservation, 
some  of  the  writing  had  become  illegible — 

'  I  Rec"^  my  Dearest  Miss  Bellamy  Letter  at  Last :  after  her 
long  silence,  indeed  I  was  very  Jealous  with  you,  but  you  make 
me  amen's  in  Letting  me  hear  from  you  now,  it  gives  me  great 
Joy  &  all  our  faimely  to  hear  that  y^  D""  mama  and  you  Dearest 
self  are  in  perfect  Health  to  be  sure  all  y''  Relations  where  fighting 
to  see  which  of  them  shod  have  you  first  and  Longest  with  you. 
I  hope  you  are  a  most  tird  of  england  &  that  we  shall  soon  have 
your  sweet  company  in  Ireland,  where  you  will  be  heartily 
welcome,  it  gives  me  vast  pleasure  to  hear  you  haves  Thoughts  of 
coming  over  my  Lady  ...  To  be  sure  I  dont  wonder  at  it,  for 
you  know  her  heart  &  soul  was  rapit  up  in  his,  as  to  hows  bing 
the  next  heir  I  believe  it  will  be  how  my  Lord  pleases,  he  is  in  ye 
Country  &  my  Lady  is  with  us  she  cant  go  to  her  own  house  I 
belive  she  will  go  strait  to  england  to  Miss  Bour,  I  was  very 
unfortunate  to  be  in  the  Country  when  our  Vaux  Hall  was,  if  I 
was  in  Town  I  shou'd  be  thear  &  I  belive  I  should  be  much  more 
delighted  than  at  a  publicker  devertion,  I  am  quite  alterd  since  I 
saw  you,  there  is  nothing  I  love  so  much  as  solitude  ;  I  dont 
belive  it  was  Mr.  knox  you  read  of  at  Bath  for  he  is  hear  and  pray 
write  me  word  when  you  saw  or  heard  from  Mr.  Crump  ...  is 
out  of  Town  this  tow  months  past  every  ...  in  the  country, 
Dublin  is  the  stupites  place  ...  in  the  world  I  hope  y*^  winter 
will  be  more  .  ,  .  tho  I  see  know  great  Liklihood  of  it,  for    I 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  163 

belive  Shredian  can  get  know  body  to  play  with  him  is  doing  all 
he  can  to  get  frinds  for  him  sef  to  be  sure  you  have  bread  he  is 
marrd  for  sirtain  to  Miss  Chamberlan  a  sweet  pare, 

'Papa  &  mama  &  Miss  Betty  &  Miss  Kittys  sincer  love  and 
comp'^^  to  y"  &  y»"  mama  y^"  Littel  Husband  sends  you  ten  Thou- 
sand Kisses  he  whisses  he  had  you  hear  to  give  y"'  to  you  he  says 
they  wo''  be  swe  .  .  .  Lipes  than  on  paper  without  making  .  .  . 
Comp*^  he  shakes  me  so  I  cant  write  .  .  .  Miss  Bellamy  will 
excuse  this  ...  I  must  bid  a  due  &  shall 

only  say  I  am  my  D""  your 

ever  afFec*'^* 

M.  Gunning. 

Dublin  august  31. 

'  Mrs.  JufFy  begs  Leave  to  give  her  Comp*^  to  you  &  she  is  re- 
joyes'd  to  hear  you  are  well,  she  is  in  a  very  bad  state  of  healht.' 

But  we  have  been  slightly  anticipating  matters.  Miss 
Bellamy  remained  in  Dublin  about  three  years  :  at  the  end 
of  that  time  she  quarrelled  with  Sheridan,  and,  refusing 
to  consider  any  fresh  engagement  with  him,  set  out  for 
London,  to  the  great  regret  both  of  the  theatre-going 
public  and  her  private  friends,  who  loaded  her  with  pre- 
sents on  her  departure. 

Some  little  time  previously  she  had  refused  an  engage- 
ment with  Garrick,  who,  immediately  after  his  purchase  of 
a  half-share  of  the  patent  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  had 
offered  her  £10  a  week  to  join  his  company.  Now,  how- 
ever, Garrick  regretted  that  he  could  not  offer  her  any 
engagement,  as  his  present  company  included  Mrs.  Olive, 
Mrs.  Gibber,  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  who  together  engrossed 
all  the  principal  female  parts.  She  therefore  joined  Rich's 
company  at  Covent  Garden,  where  Peg  Woffington  was 
then  the  bright  particular  star,  between  whom  and  our 
heroine  there  was,  from  first  to  last,  perpetual  war.  One 
evening  soon  after  her  reappearance  on  the  London  boards, 
as   she   was  playing   Athenais   in  Theodosius,  Lord  Byron 


164  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

appeared  in  the  stage  box,  and  the  sight  of  him  frightened 
her  out  of  her  wits.  Presently  his  lordship  swaggered 
behind  the  scenes  and  informed  Rich  that  he  had  come 
to  take  away  his  Athenais,  whereupon  the  manager 
courageously  ordered  him  off.  The  next  evening,  when 
Quin  happened  to  be  at  her  house  to  supper,  a  letter 
from  Lord  Byron  was  brought  in  in  which  his  lordship 
swore  that  if  she  did  not  consent  to  his  proposals  he 
would  pursue  her  till  she  took  shelter  in  the  arms  of 
some  other  protector.  Quin  instantly  bethought  himself 
of  a  ruse  to  get  rid  of  the  importunate  peer,  and  calling  for 
pen  and  ink  immediately  wrote  the  following  answer,  which 
was  handed  out  to  Byron's  messenger,  who  waited  at  the 
door: — 'Lieutenant  O'Hara's  compliments  to  Lord  Byron, 
and  if  he  ever  dares  to  insult  his  sister  again  it  shall  not 
be  either  his  title  or  cowardice  that  shall  preserve  him 
from  chastisement.'  Quin  evidently  knew  his  man,  for 
Byron  was  plainly  so  terrified  at  the  thought  of  being 
confronted  by  his  inamorata's  pugilistic  sailor  brother  that 
he  set  off  for  Nottinghamshire  the  very  next  morning, 
and  George  Anne  was  never  troubled  by  him  again. 
About  this  time  her  aunt,  Miss  O'Hara,  died  in  Dublin. 
One  evening,  not  long  after,  Quin  stopped  her  as  she  was 
leaving  the  stage  after  the  conclusion  of  her  part,  and 
told  her  she  must  go  into  the  scene-room  and  kneel  to  a 
person  whom  she  would  find  there.  That  person  proved 
to  be  none  other  than  her  father,  Lord  Tyrawley,  who 
embraced  her  affectionately,  said  that  what  he  had  heard 
of  her  both  from  her  aunt  and  from  Quin  had  given  him 
the  greatest  satisfaction,  and  that  he  proposed  to  have 
supper  in  her  apartments,  if  she  could  arrange  to  keep 
the  other  females  of  her  household  out  of  the  way.  He 
then  gave  her  two  rings,  one  of  them  having  in  it  a  large 
pink   diamond   of  great  value,  which   he   said   had    been 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  165 

left  her  by  Miss  O'Hara.  'I  apprehended,'  adds  George 
Anne  significantly,  'that  this  was  not  the  whole  of  my 
legacy;  but  as  his  lordship  took  no  notice  of  anything 
else,  I  could  not  with  propriety  ask  him.'  Lord  Tyrawley 
now  became  a  frequent  visitor  at  her  apartments;  but 
although  he  generally  divided  the  contents  of  his  purse 
with  her  to  pay  for  his  entertainment  whenever  he  came, 
nothing  was  ever  said  about  any  further  legacy.  For  some 
time  past  a  worthy  and  well-to-do  Dublin  merchant  named 
Crump  had  been  paying  his  addresses  to  her ;  but  although 
her  mother  seconded  his  suit  with  all  the  arguments  at  her 
command,  George  Anne  could  not  be  brought  to  give  the 
poor  man  any  encouragement.  Far  otherwise  was  the  case 
when  her  old  admirer  Mr.  Montgomery  reappeared  on  the 
scene,  having  by  the  death  of  his  mother  become  possessed 
of  a  good  estate  and  changed  his  name  to  Metham.  He 
resumed  his  attentions  to  her;  and  she  appears  to  have 
assumed  that  after  their  previous  understanding  on  the 
matter,  such  attentions  could  only  mean  that  he  intended 
an  honourable  marriage.  They  were  both  of  a  highly 
romantic  mood,  she  says,  and  their  correspondence  'par- 
took more  of  the  sentiments  of  Cassandra  and  Oroondates 
than  of  persons  on  the  level  with  the  rest  of  mankind.'  And 
she  went  even  somewhat  further,  for,  looking  upon  Metham 
as  her  future  husband,  she  made  no  scruple  about  accepting 
the  presents  (including  money)  which  he  was  continually 
pressing  upon  her.  While  matters  were  in  this  condition, 
Lord  Tyrawley,  to  her  astonishment,  insisted  that  she 
should  marry  the  objectionable  Crump,  who  was  on  the 
point  of  coming  to  London  for  the  purpose.  Whether  what 
followed  was  a  preconcerted  manoeuvre  on  the  part  of  the 
romantic  lovers,  or  whether  Metham  took  her  by  surprise, 
as  she  seems  to  imply,  is  a  doubtful  point.  But,  on  the  very 
day  of  Crump's  arrival,  just  at  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  act 


166  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

of  the  play  in  which  she  took  a  principal  part,  Metham 
carried  her  off  in  a  coach  to  his  house  in  Leicester  Fields, 
and  Quin  had  to  make  an  apology  to  the  waiting  audience 
for  the  non-appearance  of  '  Lady  Fanciful,'  and  explain 
what  had  happened.  The  next  day  she  and  her  lover  posted 
off  to  York,  where  Metham  took  an  elegant  house  for  her  in 
Trinity  Lane.  But  the  amorous  gentleman  seems  to  have 
acted  after  the  usual  manner  of  his  kind,  and  George  Anne 
was  regretfully  compelled  to  admit  that,  though  she  re- 
mained there  seven  months,  her  ardent  lover  did  not  favour 
her  with  his  company  during  that  period  for  more  than 
seven  weeks,  and  she  was  glad  to  relieve  her  solitude  by 
cultivating  the  society  of  the  nuns  in  a  neighbouring  con- 
vent. After  a  son  (registered  as  George  Metham)  had  been 
born,  she  received  a  letter  from  her  old  friend  Quin,  saying 
that  if  she  returned  to  London  he  would  secure  her  an  en- 
gagement at  £7  a  week  and  a  free  benefit,  a  proposal  which 
Metham,  who  now  wished  to  be  in  London  on  his  own 
account,  urged  her  to  accept.  She  accordingly  came  up, 
reappeared  at  Covent  Garden,  and  met  with  a  success  so  far 
beyond  her  own  or  anybody  else's  expectation  as  to  inflame 
the  jealousy  of  her  old  rival  Mistress  Woffington,  who  soon 
seized  the  occasion  of  being  refused  an  extra  benefit  she 
had  asked  for  as  a  justification  for  marching  off  in  high 
dudgeon  for  Dublin. 

Metham  took  a  large  house  in  King  Street,  St.  James's, 
set  up  an  equipage,  and  altogether  lived  in  a  style  which 
would  have  required  twice  his  means  to  keep  up.  She  still 
had  hopes  that  he  intended  to  marry  her ;  and  as  he  allowed 
his  two  nephews  and  his  niece  to  live  with  her,  while  his 
sister  and  other  members  of  his  family  visited  the  house, 
other  ladies  of  her  acquaintance  made  no  objection  to  renew 
their  visits,  and  she  considered  herself  to  be  on  a  very  satis- 
factory footing.      Unfortunately,  however,  Metham  had   a 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  167 

passion  for  play,  and  George  Anne  had  contracted  a  taste  for 
expensive  living,  a  taste  wliicli  she  indulged  to  the  full  with- 
out  thinking   for  a   moment   that   she  was   not  as  much 
entitled  so  to  do  as  any  of  the  persons  of  quality  with  whom 
she  associated.     She  had  once  more  become  reconciled  to 
Lord  Tyrawley,  and  took  an  additional  house  at  Richmond 
in  order  to  be  near  him.     For  a  time,  this  was  not  only 
pleasant,  but  not  inconvenient ;  for,  Avhile  his  lordship  was 
in  funds,  she  could  always  draw  upon  him  in  an  emergency, 
and,  notwithstanding  her  handsome  salary,  the  large  profits 
of  her  benefit,  and  Metham's  liberality,  which  she  admits  to 
have  been  '  unlimited,'  her  expenditure  was  so  reckless  that 
she  frequently  found  herself  without  a  guinea.     Her  house 
at  Richmond  was  always  crowded  with  visitors,  and  she  had 
staying  with  her  as  permanent  inmates,  in  addition  to  the 
members  of  her  own  family,  the  widow  of  Mr.  Delany,  and  a 
Miss  Holroyd,  daughter  of  Lord  Frederick  Cavendish,  who 
afterwards    appeared    with    great    eclat    upon    the    stage. 
Amongst  other  amusements,  she  and  her  friends   treated 
the  inhabitants  of  Richmond  to  performances  of  Andro- 
maque,  Zaire,  Athalie,  and  other  French  plays— a  mode  of 
entertainment  which  cost  her  something  like  £300.     But 
Metham's  liberality  could  not  continue  '  unlimited '  for  ever. 
After  having  a  '  bad  run '  at  Scarborough,  he  wrote  to  her 
saying  that  he  could  no  longer  afford  to  keep  up  the  house 
in  King  Street ;  that  his  father  remained  inflexible ;  that  as 
his  own  return  to  town  was  very  uncertain,  she  had  better 
take  a  temporary  lodging  until  he  and  Major  Barton  had 
found  some  means  to  extricate  themselves  from  their  pre- 
sent difficulties;  and  he  added  that  he  had  seen  Garrick, 
who  was  anxious  to  enrol  her  in  his  company.     About  the 
same  time,  Lord  Tyrawley,  who  had  been  appointed  Gover- 
nor of  Gibraltar,  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  England,  though 
even  had  he  remained,  she  admits  that  his  own  love  of 


168  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

expense  was  rapidly  putting  it  out  of  his  power  any  longer  to 
support  hers.    She  was  therefore  temporarily  thrown  back  on 
her  own  unaided  resources ;  and  professes  to  have  given  some 
thought  to  her  pecuniary  position.     The  first  thing  she  did 
was  to  take  a  furnished  house  in  Frith  Street,  Soho ;  and,  as 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  at  the  moment  in  London,  she 
determined  to  pay  a  visit  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  then  in  the 
height  of  its  season ;  so  she  sent  down  to  engage  lodgings  at 
Mount  Sion — a  place  which,  she  could  not  help  remembering, 
would,  but  for  her  grandmother's  imprudent  marriage,  have 
become  her  own  property.     Before  she  left  Richmond,  one 
of  her  acquaintances  there,  the  Marquis  de  Verneuil,  had 
promised  to  introduce  her  to  the  French  court  if  she  would 
pay  a  visit  to  Paris  during  the  ensuing  summer,  and  for 
some  time  her  mind  was  obsessed  by  the  idea  that  she  was 
destined  to  make  a  conquest  of  the  Grand  Monarque  him- 
self.   The  brilliant  prospects  which  were  conjured  up  by  this 
altogether  groundless  anticipation  seem  to  have  acted  as  a 
solvent  on  her  newly-formed  principles  of  economy ;  for  she 
added  four  bright  bays  to  her  own  two  horses,  and  drove 
down  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  accompanied   by  her  maid  and 
footman,  in  a  coach  and  six.     She  had  hardly  arrived  when 
she  received  a  visit  from  Mr.  St.  Leger — the  gentleman,  it 
will  be  remembered,  who  had  been  censured  b}^  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant  for   his  unbecoming   behaviour   to  her  in  the 
Dublin  theatre.     He  was  now  engaged  to  be  married  to  her 
old  friend.  Miss  Butler,  and  came  to  inquire,  on  behalf  of  his 
prospective  mother-in-law,  whether  the  young  lady  who  had 
arrived  in  such  splendid  style  and  was  evidently  bent  on 
making   herself  very  conspicuous,  were  really  married  to 
Mr.  Metham  or  not.     If  not,  he  was  instructed  to  say  that 
neither   Mrs.  Butler   nor  her  daughter,  to   their  profound 
regret,  would  be  able  to  take  any  notice  of  her,  and  as  the 
numerous  Irish  gentry  and  nobility  who  were  then  at  the 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  169 

Wells  would  doubtless  follow  this  example,  her  position 
there  could  not  be  anything  but  an  extremely  uncomfortable 
one.  George  Anne  smothered  her  chagrin  as  well  as  she 
could ;  but  neither  at  the  time  nor  afterwards  did  she  im- 
pugn the  justice  of  this  rebuff.  Some  other  friends,  who 
were  not  so  particular,  called  on  her  in  the  evening,  when 
she  added  to  her  misfortune  by  losing  £200  at  cards.  Next 
morning  there  was  no  alternative  but  a  return  to  London; 
and,  after  paying  for  her  lodging,  she  drove  off  in  her  coach 
and  six  with  but  a  solitary  half-guinea  in  her  purse.  She 
might  have  secured  a  very  lucrative  engagement  at  Covent 
Garden  if  she  had  not  been  too  hasty ;  but  when  Lacy 
called  on  her  soon  after  her  arrival  in  Soho,  and  falsely 
assured  her  that  Quin  had  quitted  the  stage,  while  Mrs. 
Gibber  had  been  engaged  for  Covent  Garden,  she  at  once 
signed  an  agreement  with  him  to  play  for  the  next  three 
years  at  Drury  Lane  at  the  comparatively  poor  salary  of 
£300  a  year.  In  the  meantime,  the  theatres  not  being  yet 
open,  she  and  General  Wall,  and  Count  Haslang,  the  Bavarian 
Ambassador,  agreed  to  set  up  a  '  Pharaoh '  bank  together,  her 
diamonds  being  pawned  to  provide  her  share  of  the  capital. 
They  engaged  Goundu,  the  most  eminent  cook  of  his  time ; 
and  their  convivial  parties  drew  such  numbers  of  the  gay, 
fluttering,  unthinking  people  of  fashion  to  their  tables  that 
(as  of  course  the  bank  always  won)  she  declares  that  if  her 
unfortunate  theatrical  engagement  had  not  interfered  with 
this  more  profitable  species  of  playing,  she  would  very  soon 
have  realised  a  fortune.  She  might  have  added  that  such 
fortune,  whatever  might  have  been  its  extent,  would  probably 
have  been  spent  as  soon  as  made.  The  following  season  is 
noted  in  theatrical  history  for  the  battle  of  the  Juliets,  both 
the  theatres  opening  with  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  Garrick 
and  herself  playing  at  Drury  Lane  in  rivalry  with  Barry  and 
Mrs.  Cibber  at  Covent  Garden,  until  the  tired  and  disgusted 


170  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

public  plainly  showed  that  the  contest  must  be  brought  to 
an  end.  George  Anne  seems  to  have  been  much  impressed, 
though  not  particularly  pleased,  with  the  dexterity  of 
Garrick's  management,  to  Avhich,  she  thought,  he  owed 
almost  as  much  as  to  his  acting.  One  of  his  tricks  of  the 
trade  she  describes  as  follows : — 

'  He  used  to  send  Mr.  Varney,  the  housekeeper,  round  among  the 
ladies  of  quality  to  inform  them  as  a  favour  that  his  master  played 
such  a  part  on  such  a  night ;  to  which  Mr.  Varney  used  to  add — 
"and,  if  possible,  I  will  secure  a  box  for  your  ladyship."  I  have 
been  present  when  he  has  called  on  ladies  with  this  story,  who 
have  acknowledged  themselves  much  obliged  to  him  for  his  intelli- 
gence, and  have  given  him  a  guinea  for  this  particular  mark  of 
attention,  exclusive  of  the  usual  present  at  Christmas  for  his 
benefit.  And  this  he  has  done  at  the  time  when,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  there  has  not  been  one  box  really  engaged  in  the  book 
for  the  night  of  performance  he  has  mentioned.' 

Metham  was  now  again  in  London  with  her ;  but  she  says 
she  had  very  little  of  his  company,  as  '  he  was  generally  at 
White's,  or  some  other  coffee  -  house,  losing  his  money.' 
January  the  30th  being  his  birthday,  and  there  being  no 
performance  at  the  theatre,  she  gave  a  '  gala '  to  his  friends 
and  her  own,  sending  to  Goundu  to  dress  the  dinner,  and, 
with  characteristic  extravagance,  giving  Robinson,  the  con- 
fectioner, carte  hlanche  as  to  the  dessert.  Metham  brought 
with  him  on  this  occasion  a  Mr.  John  Calcraft,  a  young  man 
of  about  her  own  age,  whom  Henry  Fox  had  recently  made 
an  intermediary  between  the  chiefs  of  the  army  and  the 
paymaster-general,  and  of  whom  in  the  course  of  this  history 
we  shall  hear  a  good  deal  more.  Somebody  present  happen- 
ing to  remark  on  the  extraordinary  sumptuousness  of  the 
dessert,  the  hostess  pleasantly  replied  that  she  had  no  im- 
mediate fear  of  having  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  new  debtors' 
prison  in  St.  George's  Fields  in  consequence,  though  if  ever 
she  should  get  there,  she  hoped  some  one  or  other  of  them 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  171 

would  come  to  the  rescue.  Whereupon,  to  the  astonishment 
of  everybody,  Metham  rose,  in  a  sudden  fit  of  anger,  and 
decLared  that  she  might  rot  there  before  he  would  release 
her.  George  Anne  was  not  the  sort  of  young  woman  to  stand 
an  insult  like  that,  even  from  the  man  to  whom  she  was  so 
ultra-romantically  devoted,  and  with  corresponding  heat  she 
instantly  renounced  him,  and  declared,  in  presence  of  the 
whole  company,  that  she  would  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  him,  even  if  he  should  go  down  on  his  knees  and 
implore  her  to  marry  him.  It  was  generally  supposed  that 
Metham  was  actuated  by  jealousy,  especially  concerning  her 
friendship  with  Lord  Downe  (who  was  one  of  the  party  pre- 
sent) ;  but  she  asserts  most  emphatically  that  she  had  never 
given  him  the  slightest  cause  for  jealousy  during  the  whole 
time  she  remained  under  his  protection.  Her  friendship  with 
Lord  Downe,  however,  must  have  been  of  a  pretty  intimate 
character ;  for  when,  a  few  days  after  this  scene,  a  packet 
was  left  at  her  house  containing  ten  bank  notes  for  £100 
each,  she  at  once  credited  that  young  nobleman  with  being 
the  anonymous  donor. 

Mr.  Calcraft  seems  to  have  improved  the  occasion,  and  in- 
sinuated himself  into  her  confidence.  As  he  was  a  notable 
man  of  business,  she  gradually  came  to  consult  him  about  her 
affairs,  and  among  other  things  she  told  him  about  the  £1000 
in  the  blank  cover,  and  asked  whether  in  his  opinion  she  was 
justified  in  using  the  money.  He  advised  her  to  put  it  away 
as  a  resource  for  a  rainy  day ;  which  she  did.  Then,  after 
a  short  interval,  he  proposed  marriage ;  but  she  refused  him. 
Metham  was  eager  for  a  reconciliation,  but,  although  nobody, 
she  declares,  ever  supplanted  him  in  her  affections,  she  was 
at  this  time  too  deeply  offended  to  hold  any  communication 
with  him.  Calcraft,  in  a  roundabout  manner,  conveyed  the 
false  information  to  her  mother  that  Metham  had  consoled 
himself  with  another  charmer,  and  while  George  Anne  was 


172  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

smarting  under  the  effect  of  this  intelligence  (which  of  course 
her  mother  promptly  communicated  to  her),  the  astute  young 
man  again  pressed  his  matrimonial  proposals.  He  could  not 
marry  her  at  once,  he  explained,  because  of  his  dependence 
on  Henry  Fox,  who  was  averse  to  his  doing  so ;  but  he  oft'ered 
to  sign  a  contract  of  marriage  (which  he  brought  with  him 
ready  draAvn  up),  by  which  he  engaged,  under  a  forfeit  of 
£50,000,  to  make  her  his  wife  within  six  or  seven  years ;  and 
at  length  she  consented.  She  afterwards  discovered  that  the 
stories  she  had  heard  about  Metham  were  entirely  of  Cal- 
craft's  invention,  and  that  her  former  lover,  who  would  not 
marry  her  when  he  had  the  opportunity,  was  now  frantic 
because  another  man  had  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  do 
so.  However,  it  was  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk,  and  after 
spending  the  summer  at  Twickenham  in  a  little  house  with 
the  big  name  of  Raymond's  Castle,  she  removed  with  Calcraft 
to  his  London  residence,  and  settled  down  as  '  his  domesti- 
cated wife.'  When  he  told  her  the  amount  of  his  income, 
she  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  it  hardly  equal  to  her 
own;  but  on  his  asking  how  much  their  joint-housekeeping 
would  require,  she  answered  without  much  consideration, 
one  hundred  guineas  a  quarter;  and  on  his  immediately 
agreeing  to  allow  that  sum,  she  for  a  time  thought  no  more 
of  the  matter.  But  before  settling  down  with  him,  she  used 
the  ten  £100  bank  notes  to  pay  her  debts;  and  she  went  to 
her  new  lord  and  master,  she  declares,  not  only  free  of  all 
encumbrance,  but  possessed  of  a  good  deal  of  plate  and  of 
more  diamonds  than  private  gentlcAvomen  can  generally  boast 
of  She  now  thought  it  well  to  alter  her  theatrical  style 
from  '  Miss '  to  '  Mrs.'  Bellamy ;  but  in  private  she  was  called 
Mrs.  Calcraft,  and  it  was  generally  supposed  that  he  had 
married  her.  She  devoted  herself  with  nuich  assiduity  to 
forwarding  his  business  interests,  and  it  was  through  her 
influence  that  he  acquired  the  agencies  for  Lord  Tyrawley, 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  173 

Sir  John  Mordaunt,  General  Campbell,  General  Braddock, 
and  other  army  officers. 

The  connection  with  Calcraft  caused  no  interruption  to 
her  theatrical  career,  except  for  such  few  intervals  as  the 
cares  of  maternity  necessitated ;  and  her  popularity  w^as  such 
that  we  hear  of  her  clearing  as  much  as  £1100  by  a  benefit ; 
when  Lord  Kildare,  Lord  Granby,  Mr.  Fox,  and  Mr.  Digby  paid 
£100  each  for  their  tickets,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
time.  She  boasts  also  that  she  became  the  sole  dictatress  of 
fashion  among  the  fine  ladies  of  the  period,  being  consulted 
by  everybody  concerning  their  birthday  or  fancy-ball 
costumes.  Instead  of  having  her  theatrical  costumes  bought 
for  her,  the  proprietors  of  the  theatre  made  her  an  allowance 
in  cash ;  and  this  circumstance  gave  rise  on  one  occasion  to 
a  pretty  squabble  with  her  rival.  Peg  Woffington.  George 
Anne  had  got  her  dressmaker  to  buy  for  her  in  Paris  two  of 
the  '  most  elegant '  tragedy  dresses  that  money  could  procure, 
the  ground  of  one  being  a  rich  purple,  of  the  other  a  deep 
yellow.  A  revival  of  Lee's  Alexander,  in  which  she  was 
to  play  Statira  and  Peg  Woffington  Roxana,  promised  to 
afford  an  admirable  opportunity  for  showing  off  this  new 
finery.  Rich  had  bought  a  dress  from  the  wardrobe  of  the 
Princess  Dowager  of  Wales  for  Roxana,  which,  as  it  was 
not  at  all  soiled,  looked  very  beautiful  by  daylight,  but  which, 
being  of  a  straw  colour,  seemed  only  a  dirty  white  by  candle- 
light, especially  when  in  juxtaposition  with  George  Anne's 
splendid  deep  yellow.  As  soon  as  Mistress  Woffington  caught 
sight  of  her  rival  attired  in  such  magnificent  finery,  she  grew 
white  with  rage  and  magisterially  observed, '  I  desire,  madam, 
you  Avill  never  more  upon  any  account  Avear  those  clothes 
in  the  piece  we  perform  to-night.'  To  which  George  Anne 
loftily  replied,  '  I  know  not,  madam,  by  what  right  you  take 
upon  you  to  dictate  to  me  what  I  shall  wear.'  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton then  entreated  her  in  a  somewhat  softer  strain;   and 


174  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

George  Anne  promised  that  she  would  not  wear  that 
eclipsing  yellow  gown  on  the  following  evening.  But  when 
Statira  appeared  on  the  following  night  even  more  resplen- 
dent in  her  new  purple  robe,  the  fur}^  of  Roxana  knew  no 
bounds,  and,  seizing  an  opportunity  which  the  play  afforded, 
she  drove  the  rival  queen  off  the  carpet,  and  stabbing 
viciously  at  her  with  the  theatrical  dagger,  nearly  succeeded 
in  giving  her  the  coup  de  grace  behind  the  scenes.  As  may 
be  supposed,  George  Anne  promptly  retaliated  by  donning 
both  the  yellow  and  the  purple  costumes  on  every  available 
occasion ;  and  the  green-room  was  frequently  the  scene  of 
violent  recriminations.  On  one  occasion  when  Mrs.  Bellamy's 
friend  Count  Haslang  happened  to  be  present,  Roxana 
sarcastically  remarked  that  it  was  well  for  her  she  had  a 
minister  to  supply  her  extravagance  with  jewels  and  such 
like  paraphernalia ;  to  which  Statira  instantly  retorted  that 
she  was  sorry  even  half  the  toiun  could  not  furnish  her  rival 
with  a  supply  equal  to  that  of  the  minister  so  illiberally 
hinted  at.  This  was  a  Parthian  shot,  for  she  assures  us  that 
had  not  Count  Haslang  adroitly  covered  her  precipitate 
retreat,  she  would  probably  have  appeared  in  the  next  scene 
with  two  black  eyes  instead  of  the  blue  ones  which  nature 
had  given  her.  This  lively  quarrel  became  sufficiently  well 
known  to  justify  Foote  in  producing  a  little  farce,  entitled 
The  Green-Room  Squabble ;  or  a  Battle  Royal  between  the 
Queen  of  Babylon  and  the  Daughter  of  Darius,  in  which 
both  these  belligerent  ladies  received  a  well-merited  punish- 
ment. 

Calcraft's  business  grew  with  astonishing  rapidity;  and 
when  he  had  removed  to  a  house  in  Parliament  Street,  and 
his  servants  and  clerks  numbered  upwards  of  thirty,  he 
agreed  to  allow  £2500  a  year  for  table  expenses.  Previous 
to  that  date,  George  Anne  declares  that  her  household 
expenses  had  been  three  times  as  much  as  he  had  allowed. 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  175 

She  boasts  that  her  company  now  included  a  Dodington,  a 
Lyttelton,  a  Mallet,  '  the  modern  Aristophanes,'  and,  in  fact, 
all  the  wits  of  the  age ;  and,  Avhat  was  still  more  flattering  to 
her  pride,  '  females  of  the  first  rank,  and  those  exemplary 
patterns  of  rectitude,  admitted  me  to  their  privacy.'  Having 
such  associates,  she  Avas  ambitious  to  pose  as  a  woman  of 
culture ;  and  her  account  of  her  intellectual  proficiency  is 
highly  amusing. 

'  I  resolved  to  study  philosophy,  and  endeavour,  if  I  could  not 
arrive  at  the  honour  of  being  the  first,  to  be  the  second  female 
Newton.  For  this  purpose  I  visited  the  observatory  at  Flamstead 
House ;  constantly  attended  Martin's  lectures ;  and  soon  became 
acquainted  with  the  Ram,  the  Bull,  the  Lion,  the  Scorpion,  and  all 
the  constellations.  Having  acquired  a  knowledge  of  astronomy,  I 
do  not  know  whether  I  should  not  have  become  an  adept  in  every 
branch  of  natural  philosophy,  had  not  my  humanity  stood  in  the 
way.  For  upon  seeing  a  cat  tortured  in  an  air-pump,  of  which, 
though  an  animal  I  have  the  greatest  dislike  to,  I  could  not  bear 
to  behold  the  convulsive  struggles,  I  left  the  pursuit  of  philosophy, 
and  turned  my  thoughts  to  politics.' 

So  she  started  reading  Grotius,  Puffendorf,  and  other 
authorities  on  jurisprudence,  and  sought  to  acquire  a 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  nations,  as  though  she  were  about 
to  be  appointed  Ambassador  to  one  of  the  first  Courts  of 
Europe.  How  long  she  continued  to  pursue  these  abstruse 
studies  we  are  not  informed ;  but  like  certain  advocates  of 
woman's  rights  in  our  own  day,  whose  pohtical  and  philo- 
sophical acquirements  may  be  equally  extensive  and  deep, 
her  progress  was  sufficient  to  assure  her  that  '  the  boasted 
superiority  of  the  men  over  our  sex  in  the  endowments  of 
the  mind  is  a  mere  commonplace  vaunt.'  But  if  we  can 
scarcely  credit  her  with  being  much  of  a  natural  philosopher 
and  jurist,  she  appears  to  have  been  a  capable  enough  woman 
of  business ;  and  when  Calcraft  was  -laid  up  for  a  time  at 
Bath  by  an  attack  of  gout,  she  conducted  the  army-agency 


176  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

business  with  diligence  and  despatch.  In  business,  however, 
as  in  natural  philosophy,  humanity  sometimes  stood  in  the 
way,  the  following  being  an  instance  very  much  to  her 
credit : — 

'  The  spring  before,  hearing  repeated  complaints  from  the  army 
in  Germany  that  the  shirts  of  the  common  soldiers  came  unsewed 
the  first  time  they  were  washed,  and  that  their  shoes  and  stockings 
were  made  in  as  bad  a  manner,  my  philanthropy  prompted  me  to 
endeavour  to  remedy  this  imposition  on  the  poor  fellows.  I  accord- 
ingly made  inquiry  into  the  affair,  and  finding  that  an  addition  of 
a  penny  for  making  the  shirts  and  threepence  per  pair  in  the 
shoes  and  in  the  stockings  would  be  of  more  than  proportionate 
advantage,  I  agreed  with  the  contractor  ...  to  allow  him  that 
additional  price  for  all  that  were  sent  to  Germany  to  the  regiments 
Mr.  Calcraft  was  agent  to.' 

Mr.  Calcraft,  however,  like  some  other  army  contractors 
we  have  heard  of,  considered  humanity  a  hindrance  to 
business,  and  left  George  Anne  to  pay  out  of  her  own  money 
the  bill  for  £900  which  this  act  of  common  kindness  entailed. 
Lord  Granby  on  his  return  from  Germany  gave  her  £100 
towards  it,  and  Henry  Fox  (who  was  accumulating  a  fortune 
of  millions  by  what  the  paymaster  could  screw  out  of  the 
forces)  gave  a  similar  paltry  sum.  But  the  poor  private 
soldier  blessed  her,  and  the  sentries  presented  arms  whenever 
she  afterwards  passed  through  the  Park. 

From  1752  to  1760  (of  course  she  does  not  condescend  to 
mention  the  dates,  but  they  may  be  otherwise  ascertained), 
George  Anne  was  'Mrs,  Calcraft'  in  the  daytime,  and 
'  Mrs.  Bellamy '  in  the  evening,  or  whenever  the  theatre  was 
open.  In  1758,  as  Boswell  records,  when  Garrick  and 
Dodsley  had  a  quarrel  over  the  latter's  Glcone,  Dr.  Johnson 
went,  on  the  first  night,  to  support  the  author,  when  he  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  the  acting  of  Bellamy  '  left  nothing  to 
be  desired.'  He  even  expressed  his  intention  of  writing  a 
copy  of  encomiastic  verses  on  her.     He  had  previously  taken 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  177 

some  notice  of  her  during  the  rehearsal  of  the  piece ;  and  she 
relates  how  when  she  came  to  repeat  the  words  Thou  shalt 
not  murder,  he  caught  her  roughly  by  the  arm,  saying,  '  It 
is  a  commandment,  and  must  be  spoken,  "  Thou  shalt  not 
murder." '  The  popular  actress,  who  had  not  then  been  intro- 
duced to  the  great  Cham,  was  much  displeased  at  the  way  in 
which  her  uncouth  critic  enforced  his  instructions.  In  her 
conception  of  this  character  she  took  a  line  in  opposition  to 
both  author  and  manager ;  and  she  also  defied  one  of  the 
absurd  stage  conventions  of  the  day  by  playing  the  part 
without  a  hoop.  It  was  then  the  custom  for  even  nuns  to  be 
represented  on  the  stage  with  hoops  to  their  petticoats,  and 
powder  in  their  hair.  But  her  boldness  was  justified  by 
success.  The  days  of  strict  attention  to  propriety  of  costume 
were  as  yet  far  off.  Empresses  and  Queens  usually  wore 
black  velvet  dresses,  and  upon  special  occasions  sported  the 
additional  finery  of  an  embroidered  petticoat.  The  younger 
females  and  secondary  characters  wore  the  cast-off  gowns  of 
persons  of  quality — frequently  much  soiled.  The  male  part 
of  the  dramatis  personam,  whether  representing  modern  bucks 
or  ancient  heroes,  strutted  about  in  tarnished  laced  coats  and 
waistcoats,  full-bottom  or  tie  wigs,  and  black  worsted  stock- 
ings. But  the  transition  to  our  modern  somewhat  painful 
archaeological  accuracy  was  already  beginning  to  be  visible ; 
and  George  Anne  notes  that  she  once  saw  Le  Quin  on  the 
French  stage  in  the  character  of  Orestes,  fawning  a  little 
Spanish  hat  and  feather  between  his  hands,  when  every 
other  part  of  his  dress  was  truly  Grecian.  She  was  evidently 
regarded  as  an  expert  in  all  matters  of  costume,  and  was 
consulted  by  the  players  concerning  their  stage  dress,  as  well 
as  by  fine  ladies  about  their  birthday  costumes.  One  day  at 
Covent  Garden,  Ross  came  to  her  and  asked  how  he  should 
dress  for  the  character  of  the  Roman  Emperor  in  The 
Prophetess.    Among  other  things,  she  advised  a  wig  as  closely 

M 


178  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

resembling  a  head  of  hair  as  possible.  Ross  demurred  to 
this,  saying,  that  in  Rich's  opinion  he  ought  to  wear  a  full- 
bottomed  wig.  George  Anne  ironically  observed  that  a 
full-bottomed  wig  would  certainly  make  him  very  con- 
spicuous, and  that  he  might  make  himself  even  more  so  by 
wearing  a  hoop  under  his  lamberkins.  Ross  took  this 
sarcasm  quite  seriously,  and  made  himself  up  into  such  a 
grotesque  figure  that  his  appearance  set  the  whole  house 
in  a  roar.  Not  long  after  this  ridiculous  exhibition,  the 
custom  of  dressing  Greek  and  Roman  heroes  in  full-bottomed 
perukes  was  altogether  abandoned. 

A  considerable  part  of  Miss  Bellamy's  Apology  is  taken 
up  with  an  account  of  her  quarrels  and  squabbles  with 
other  performers.  It  would  be  wearisome  to  relate  in  detail 
all  her  battles  with  Peg  Woffington;  but  a  squabble  with 
the  illiterate  Mrs.  Hamilton  makes  a  rather  amusinof 
story.  When  George  Anne  was  playing  'Statira'  in  The 
Rival  Queens  for  Mrs.  Hamilton's  benefit  on  a  wet  after- 
noon, the  heat  of  the  house  and  the  dripping  clothes  of  the 
audience  sent  forth  odours  rather  less  sweet  than  those  of 
Araby,  so  that  she  was  glad  to  hold  a  handkerchief  drenched 
in  lavender-water  over  her  nose.  This  caused  Ross,  who 
played  '  Alexander,'  to  inquire  why  she  hid  her  face  from 
him  whilst  he  was  paying  homage  to  her  queenship.  She 
answered  that  the  people  smelt  so  strongly  like  tripe  that 
she  was  nearly  suffocated.  Ross  (who  perhaps  owed  her  a 
grudge  for  having  caused  him  to  cut  the  ridiculous  figure 
already  mentioned)  mischievously  told  '  Roxana '  that 
*  Statira '  said  her  audience  stank ;  and  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
greatly  enraged  at  this  indignity  thrown  on  the  worthy 
friends  who  had  come  in  the  wet  to  attend  her  benefit, 
determined  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  that  afforded 
to  mortify  Mrs.  Bellamy.  Accordingly,  when  the  latter's 
benefit  arrived,  she  sent  word  at  the  last  moment  that  she 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  179 

would  not  play  her  part  of  Lady  Graveairs,  so  that  an 
apology  had  to  be  made,  and  the  audience  requested  to  wait 
while  another  actress  dressed  for  the  part.  But  George 
Anne's  friends  and  admirers  would  not  allow  a  public  affront 
like  this  to  pass  without  retaliation ;  and  the  very  next 
night,  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Hamilton  came  on  as  the  Queen  in 
The  Spanish  Friar,  she  was  greeted  with  a  storm  of  hisses. 
When  this  tumult  abated  for  a  moment,  Mrs.  Hamilton 
advanced  and  treated  the  protesting  audience  to  the  follow- 
ing choice  little  speech  : — '  Gemmen  and  ladies  !  I  suppose 
as  how  you  hiss  me  because  I  did  not  play  at  Mrs.  Bellamy's 
benefit.  I  would  have  performed ;  but  she  said  as  how  my 
audience  stunk,  and  were  all  ^riipe  people.'  When  the  fair 
orator  had  got  thus  far,  the  audience  exploded  in  a  shout 
of  merriment.  A  wag  called  out,  '  Well  said,  Tripe ! '  and 
Tripe  was  a  nickname  which  stuck  to  the  lady  as  long  as 
she  was  connected  with  the  theatre. 

Her  relations  with  Calcraft  were  not  altogether  of  the 
most  amicable  description.  After  the  birth  of  a  daughter 
in  1752,  he  settled  an  estate  at  Grantham  worth  £120  a 
year  on  her  for  life  and  on  the  girl  after  her.  Later  on, 
he  bought  a  house  standing  in  eleven  acres  of  ground  near 
Bromley  in  Kent,  which  he  said  he  intended  to  dispose  of 
in  a  similar  fashion;  and  she  claims  to  have  spent  some 
£600  of  her  own  money  in  beautifying  it.  When,  however, 
after  their  removal  to  Parliament  Street,  she  showed  him 
unpaid  bills  to  the  amount  of  £1300  for  expenses  incurred 
in  their  former  house,  he  refused  to  pay,  on  the  ground  that 
she  ought  to  have  managed  well  enough  with  her  large 
salary  and  the  allowance  which  he  had  made  her.  He  also 
asked  what  had  become  of  those  ten  bank-notes  for  £100 
each  which  she  had  received  in  the  blank  cover,  and,  greatly 
to  her  astonishment,  asserted  that  he  was  the  anonymous 
donor.     As  Lord   Downe  had  since  died,  she  could  prove 


180  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

nothing  to  the  contrary,  but  she  never  credited  Calcraft's 
assertion.  Some  time  after  this,  when  one  of  her  numerous 
admirers  made  her  a  present  of  a  set  of  beautiful  horses, 
Calcraft  refused  to  be  at  the  expense  of  their  keep ;  and 
when  she  went  on  a  visit  to  France,  although,  she  says,  he 
was  glad  enough  for  her  to  go,  because  just  then  he  had  a 
particular  fancy  for  a  lady  of  easy  virtue  named  Lucy 
Cooper,  he  would  not  be  at  the  expense  of  her  journey, 
and  she  had  to  borrow  for  the  purpose  from  her  friend  Miss 
Meredith,  In  fact,  she  was  always  borrowing.  She  bor- 
rowed altogether  £1200  of  Miss  Meredith  ;  when  tradesmen 
pressed  for  payment  for  additions  she  had  made  to  her 
already  large  stock  of  jewelry,  she  borrowed  '  some  hundreds ' 
of  Mr.  Sparks ;  when  it  was  necessary  to  repay  Mr.  Sparks,, 
she  raised  £500  from  a  Jew  money-lender,  on  condition  of 
paying  him  £100  a  year  for  life  out  of  her  annuity  from 
Calcraft;  and  in  1759  she  had  to  pawn  her  jewels  for  £2000 
in  order  to  pay  certain  pressing  creditors  and  provide  the 
funds  for  a  visit  to  Brussels  and  the  Hague.  She  admits, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  about  it  whatever,  that  she  was 
habitually  extravagant.  But  she  was  also  particularly  un- 
fortunate in  her  pecuniary  affairs.  On  one  occasion  her 
cousin,  Crawford,  a  solicitor  whom  she  had  trusted  to  act 
for  her,  cheated  her  out  of  £500  and  some  valuable  diamond 
earrings.  And  even  when  a  fortune  of  £50,000  was  left  her, 
she  never  received  a  penny  of  the  money.  This  last-named 
disaster  must  have  been  peculiarly  mortifying  both  to  Calcraft 
and  herself  He  burst  into  her  room  one  day  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement  and  read  an  advertisement  from  a  news- 
paper to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Thomas  Sykes  (who  was  a  brother- 
in-law  of  Captain  Bellamy,  and  had  once  met  George  Anne 
at  the  house  of  a  cousin)  had  died  in  the  south  of  Franco 
and  left  money  in  the  English  funds  and  some  property  at 
the   Hague    to   '  Miss    Bellamy,  belonging   to    one   of    the 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  181 

theatres.'  A  firm  of  solicitors  in  London,  who  possessed  a 
draft  or  a  copy  of  the  will,  confirmed  the  advertisement, 
estimated  the  bequest  at  £50,000,  and  told  her  that  the 
original  will  was  expected  to  be  brought  over  to  England 
together  with  the  body  of  Mr.  Sykes  (who  had  desired  to 
be  buried  at  Westminster),  by  the  servant  who  had  been  in 
attendance  on  him  in  France.  But  that  servant,  being  ap- 
parently desirous  of  appropriating  to  himself  the  money  and 
effects  which  Mr.  Sykes  had  with  him  at  the  time  of  his 
death,  left  his  master's  mortal  remains  where  they  were, 
and  disappeared  with  whatever  valuables  he  could  lay  hands 
upon.  In  consequence,  the  will  Avas  never  recovered,  and 
poor  George  Anne  never  saw  a  penny  of  her  £50,000. 
Some  years  after,  when  in  Holland,  she  learnt  that  as  no 
legal  claimant  had  appeared  for  the  property  at  the  Hague, 
it  had  lapsed  to  the  States. 

Calcraft,  it  appears,  had  always  avoided  any  discussion 
on  the  subject  of  his  marriage-contract;  but  it  was  not 
until  1759  that  she  found  out  the  reason  why.  Then,  some 
few  days  after  the  birth  of  a  son,  a  lady  friend  informed 
her  that,  many  years  before,  Calcraft  had  married  a  young 
woman,  who  was  still  living  with  her  relations  in  his  native 
town  of  Grantham.  The  shock  of  hearing  this  at  such  a 
time  threw  her  into  a  fever,  and  for  a  long  time  she  was 
dangerously  ill.  It  is  a  curious  illustration  of  the  height 
to  which  party  spirit  was  carried  by  the  mercenary  politi- 
cians of  that  time  when  we  are  told  that,  although  George 
Anne's  physician  had  failed  to  discover  the  nature  of  her 
disorder,  Dr.  Lucas,  a  man  of  great  professional  merit,  could 
only  be  introduced  to  her  bedside  by  stealth,  because  his 
political  principles  were  opposed  to  those  of  Calcraft. 
When  she  had  become  convalescent,  after  a  visit  to  Bristol, 
she  proposed  to  live  with  her  mother  instead  of  returning 
to  Calcraft's  house ;  but  on  his  imploring  her  to  return,  and 


182  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

promising  to  pay  all  her  debts  within  three  months,  she 
took  up  her  quarters  with  him  once  more.  But  their 
relations  were  evidently  strained ;  and  before  long  she 
accepted  an  engagement  to  play  for  a  season  at  Mossop's 
theatre  in  Dublin.  Her  remuneration  was  to  be  a  thousand 
guineas  and  two  benefits;  but  there  were  debts  to  be 
settled  before  she  could  leave  London,  so  the  pawntickets 
of  her  jewels  were  handed  over  to  Calcraft  as  security  for 
an  advance  of  £2400.  He  wrote  to  her  afterwards,  address- 
ing her  as  'My  dearest  Georgiana,'  and  signing  himself, 
'  Yours  ever  and  ever ' ;  but  she  does  not  appear  to  have 
answered,  or  ever  to  have  seen  him  again.  Though  not  in 
strict  chronological  sequence,  it  may  be  convenient  to  state 
here  the  conclusion  of  her  relations  with  Calcraft.  In  1767 
she  put  an  advertisement  in  the  papers  stating  that  there 
would  speedily  be  published  '  a  letter  from  G.  A.  Bellamy  to 
John  Calcraft,  Esq.,'  with  this  motto : 

'  So  comes  the  reck'ning  when  the  banquet 's  o'er, 
The  dreadful  reck'ning,  and  men  smile  no  more.' 

But  Calcraft  somehow  found  means  to  have  this  explosive 
letter  suppressed,  and  it  did  not  see  the  light  until  her 
Apology  appeared,  thirteen  years  after  his  death.  Among 
other  things  she  charges  Calcraft  with  having  hired  a  hack 
writer  to  produce  a  scurrilous  publication,  wherein  their 
separation  was  stated  to  have  been  caused  by  her  gallantries 
with  Lord  Harrington  and  others  ;  an  accusation  sufficiently 
refuted  by  the  tenor  of  his  letters  to  her  written  while  she 
was  in  Dublin.  She  also  charges  him  with  having  deceived 
her  at  the  outset  by  false  statements  concerning  Metham ; 
with  having  given  her  a  fraudulent  contract  of  marriage  when 
he  had  a  wife  living;  with  not  having  paid  her  debts 
according  to  promise  ;  with  having  taken  her  jewels  out  of 
pawn  and  disposed  of  them  by  gift  and  sale  without  return- 
ing to  her  the  difference  of  £3000  between  their  value  and 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  183 

what  he  had  advanced  on  them.     And  she  draws  up  a  debtor 
and  creditor  account  between  them  to  the  following  effect : — 

G.  A.  B.  Dr.  to  J.  C. 

For  Bank-notes  in  blank  cover,    .  .  .    £1000 

,,    Payment  towards  ball  on  daughter's  birthday,  105 

,,    Picture  in  miniature  (a  present),        .             .  20 

„    Second-hand  gold  repeater,   ...  35 

,,    New  setting  of  diamond  sprig,          .             .  90 
„    Annuity  of  £120  (none  ever  paid),    . 
„    In  consideration  of  giving  up  contract  bond, 

and  dropping  action  for  value  of  diamonds,  200 

,,    Annuity  of  £100  paid  for  4  years,    .             .  400 

„    Alleged  expenses  of  illnesses  (C.'s  estimate),  900 

£2750 


She  allows  his  claim  to  have  been  the  donor  of  the  ten 
£100  bank-notes  because,  owing  to  Lord  Downe's  death, 
she  cannot  disprove  it ;  and  she  explains  that  she  gave  up 
his  marriage-contract  bond,  and  dropped  her  claim  for 
£8000  difference  in  value  of  jewels  in  return  for  £200  down 
and  an  additional  annuity  of  £100  a  year.  While  in  her 
contra  account  she  makes  no  claim  for  six  years  of  slavery 
and  four  years  of  misery;  nor  for  having  saved  his  books 
and  furniture  and  £1300  in  cash  from  the  hands  of  the  mob 
when  his  house  in  Channel  Row  took  fire. 

J.  C.  Dr.  to  G.  A.  B. 

Annuity  of  £120,  which  should  have  been  paid 

for  16  years,  .....  £1,920 
Difference  on  diamonds,  ....  3,000 
Eight  years'   receipts   from   theatres   expended 

while  in  his  house,       ....      9,600 
General  Braddock's  agency  (4  years  at  £300),    .       1,200 
Legacy  left  to  J.  C.  by  General  Braddock  on  the 
assumption     that     she     and     Calcraft    were 
married,  .....       7,000 


184  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Lord  Tyrawley's  agency  (7  years  at  £500),         .  3,500 

General  Mordaunt's  agency  (6  years  at  £300),    .  1,800 

General  Lascelles'  agency  (9  years  at  £300),       .  2,700 

Five  coach,  and  two  saddle  horses,  .  .  250 
A  Town  chariot,  quite  new,          .             .             .147 

Paid  for  champagne  ordered  for  Lord  Granby,  .  80 
Expended  on  Calcraft's  brother  (Captain  C.)  at 

the  Academy,  etc.,  ....  350 
Paid   for  clothes   for  Calcraft's  sister  during  6 

years,  ......  400 

Mrs.  Jordan's  bill  for  real  necessaries,  .  .  160 
Laid   out  on  the  building,  hot-houses,  etc.,   at 

Hollwood, 400 

£32,507 


According  to  all  this,  hie  remained  her  debtor  in  the 
sum  of  £29,757,  and  her  letter  concludes  by  requesting  a 
draft  for  the  amount  to  conclude  all  transactions  between 
them.  What  Calcraft  might  have  had  to  say  in  reply  we 
have  no  means  of  knowing ;  but  in  any  case  the  publication 
of  such  a  letter  in  1767  would  have  been  very  damaging  to 
him,  and  he  undoubtedly  did  well  in  getting  it  suppressed. 
When  he  died  in  1772,  after  having  accumulated  a  princely 
fortune,  and  come  within  measurable  distance  of  a  peerage, 
he  bequeathed  to  Miss  Bride,  an  actress  who  had  succeeded 
Miss  Bellamy  in  his  affections,  two  annuities,  one  of  £500 
and  one  of  £1000.  He  also  left  £10,000  to  each  of  his 
children  by  Miss  Bride  and  by  Miss  Bellamy.  But  he  did 
not  leave  George  Anne  anything,  or  even  mention  her  name 
except  as  the  mother  of  two  of  the  children ;  and  an  action 
which  she  brought  against  his  executors  for  the  payment  of 
the  annuity  previously  agreed  upon  was  not  decided  in  her 
favour  until  the  year  of  her  death,  too  late  for  her  to  receive 
any  of  the  money.  Curiously  enough,  Calcraft  omitted  to 
mention  in  his  will  the  name  of  the  wife,  to  whom,  as  we 
have  seen,  he  had  been  secretly  married,  and  that  omission 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  185 

enabled  her  to  have  the  will  set  aside,  and  to  claim  one- 
third  of  his  personal  estate. 

The  engagement  with  Mossop  in  Dublin  lasted  only 
through  the  season  of  1760-1.  Mr.  Joseph  Knight,  in  the 
Dictionary  of  National  Biography,  erroneously  states  that, 
according  to  her  own  confession,  she  had  now,  at  little  over 
thirty  years  of  age,  lost  all  her  former  beauty  and  power  of 
attraction.  What  she  did  say  was  that  when  she  arrived  at 
Dublin  she  had  been  sea-sick  for  four  days,  and  had  not  had 
time  even  to  wash  and  change  her  dress,  so  that  a  crowd  of 
students  from  the  college  who  waited  round  the  door  of  her 
house  to  see  the  celebrated  beauty  arrive,  saw  her  under  a 
temporary  eclipse. 

'At  length  I  stepped  out  of  the  coach.  The  long-expected 
phenomenon  now  made  her  appearance.  But  oh,  how  different  a 
figure  from  what  their  imagination  had  depicted  !  Fashion  to 
yourself  the  idea  of  a  little  dirty  creature,  bent  nearly  double, 
enfeebled  by  fatigue,  her  countenance  tinged  by  the  jaundice, 
and  in  every  respect  the  reverse  of  a  person  who  could  make  the 
least  pretensions  to  beauty.  ...  So  great  was  their  surprise  and 
disappointment  that  they  immediately  vanished,  and  left  me  to 
crawl  into  the  house,  without  admiration  or  molestation.' 

It  is  true  that  Tate  Wilkinson,  who  was  in  Dublin  at  this 
time,  describes  her  as  looking  somewhat  hollow-eyed  and 
haggard ;  but  there  is  more  evidence  to  show  that  for  some 
years  after  this  her  beauty  and  attractiveness  remained 
unimpaired.  John  O'Keeffe,  who  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  at 
this  period,  notes  in  his  Recollections,  not  only  that  her 
acting  gave  him  great  delight,  but  that  she  Avas  'very 
beautiful.'  He  adds  also  that  he  often  saw  her  splendid 
state  sedan-chair,  with  its  superb  silver-lace  liveries,  waiting 
for  her  at  the  door  of  Liffey  Street  Catholic  Chapel,  and 
that  she  was  not  only  remarkable  for  her  beauty  and  fine 
acting,  but  likewise  for  her  charity  and   humanity.     It   is 


186  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

perhaps  unnecessary  to  remark  that  she  continued  to  be 
no  less  remarkable  for  her  extravagance.  The  company 
at  Mossop's  theatre  in  Smock  Alley  was  a  much  weaker 
one  than  that  possessed  by  the  rival  house.  The  latter 
included  such  players  as  Woodward,  Barry,  and  Abing- 
ton;  whereas  George  Anne's  associates  reminded  her 
of  Falstaff's  ragged  regiment  which  had  robbed  the 
gallows.  The  only  actor  amongst  them  with  the  slightest 
claim  to  distinction  was  Digges,  a  young  man  of  good 
family,  with  considerable  histrionic  talent,  a  handsome  face, 
a  fine  figure,  and  the  art  of  persuading  all  with  whom  he 
came  into  contact  that  he  was  one  of  the  best  of  men.  At 
first  she  avoided  Digges  on  account  of  his  reputation  for 
gallantries ;  but  after  he  had  sighed  at  a  distance  for  a  little 
time,  and  made  his  gradual  approaches  with  '  awful  respect,' 
a  female  friend  was  permitted  to  introduce  him,  and  he  was 
received  as  one  of  her  regular  visitors.  Shortly  after  his 
introduction  he  fell  ill,  and  wrote  to  say  that  the  cause  of 
his  illness  was  a  consuming  passion  for  her.  Just  at  this 
time  her  old  admirer,  Crump,  from  whom  she  had  been 
ordering  goods  on  credit  pretty  freely,  went  bankrupt,  and 
his  business  and  book  debts  were  taken  over  by  a  man 
named  Coates,  who  happened  to  have  an  interest  in  the 
rival  theatre.  Coates,  having  also,  apparently,  something  of 
a  spite  against  Mrs.  Bellamy  for  having  proved  so  great  an 
attraction  at  the  other  house,  contrived  to  have  her  arrested 
for  the  sum  due  to  Crump,  and  gave  orders  to  have  the 
capture  effected  one  evening  while  she  was  on  her  way  to 
the  theatre,  so  as  to  spoil  at  any  rate  one  night's  perfor- 
mance. The  money  was  forthcoming  the  following  morn- 
ing, and  so  also  was  the  indignant  Digges,  who  promptly 
rose  from  his  sick-bed,  and  gave  the  malicious  Coates  so 
severe  a  drubbing  that,  to  avoid  the  consequences  thereof, 
it  was  necessary  for  the  actor  to  absent  himself  from  Dublin 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  187 

for  a  while.     Before  he  went   he  wrote   to   Mrs.  Bellamy 
earnestly  requesting  an  interview  with  her. 

'  I  consented.  AVhen  his  attractions,  his  suffei'ings,  gratitude, 
pity,  and  a  predilection  in  his  favour,  all  joined  to  induce  me  to 
enter  into  a  serious  connection  with  him.  This,  though  not  bind- 
ing by  the  laws  of  the  country  to  a  person  of  my  religious  persua- 
sion, was  notwithstanding  valid  to  all  intents  and  purposes.  And 
the  connection,  in  consequence,  made  us  mutually  unhappy  during 
the  two  years  we  lived  together.' 

It  is  difficult  to  make  head  or  tail  of  this  cryptic  utter- 
ance.    And  when  George  Anne  goes  on   to  add  that  she 
believed  herself  doomed  to  be  unhappy  in  every  union  she 
formed,  one  can  only  wonder  that  she  continued   to  form 
one  after  another  in  such  rapid  succession.     In  fact,  her 
conduct  only  becomes  intelligible  if  we  can  suppose  her  to 
have  acted  from  the  same  motive  as  a  certain  convicted 
bigamist,  who,  when  asked  by  the  judge  what  he  meant  by 
marrying  six  young  women  and  deserting  them  all  within 
as  many  months,  replied  that  he  was  trying  to  find  a  good 
one.    She  does  not  say  that  Digges  turned  out  a  particularly 
bad  one ;  but  he  had  his  drawbacks,  as  will  presently  be 
seen.     In  the  summer  of  1761,  finding  that  Mossop  was 
unable  to  pay  all  that  was  due  to  her,  she  had  to  borrow 
£400,  and  she  incidentally  informs  us  that  at  that  time  her 
total  debts  amounted  to  no  less  a  sum  than  £10,300.     She 
appears  to  have  been  perpetually  in  receipt  of  '  offers ' ;  one 
admirer  at  this  period  offering  £1000  down  to  be  admitted 
as    a    favourite    lover;    but,   notwithstanding    calumnious 
reports  to  the  contrary,  we  are  assured  that  '  I  never,  even 
in  thought,  deviated  from  the  duty  I  owed,  as  I  imagined, 
to  Mr.  Digges,  while  the  union  between  us  existed.'     But  as 
her   situation   was    becoming   untenable,  she    quietly   left 
Dublin  one  day  and  crossed  over  to  England,  where  Digges 
overtook  her  in  a  post-chaise,  and  the  adventurous  couple 


188  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

journeyed  north  to  Edinburgh.  They  met  with  consider- 
able success  in  the  Scottish  capital,  and  Digges  (who  had 
found  it  convenient  to  assume  the  name  of  Bellamy  for  a 
time)  did  everything  in  his  power  to  make  her  happy, 
although  continual  demands  on  him  for  debts  which  he  had 
contracted  previous  to  their  union,  and  which  had  now  to 
be  met  out  of  their  common  purse,  rather  soured  her 
temper  at  times.  When,  in  the  course  of  the  following 
season,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Digges  died,  leaving  £8000  between 
her  two  sons  on  condition  that  the  elder  should  retire  from 
the  stage  and  take  her  maiden  name  of  West,  Digges 
promptly  set  off  for  England,  taking  with  him  all  the  ready 
cash  she  could  conveniently  spare,  and  a  trifle  more.  She 
had  gone  through  some  form  of  marriage  with  Digges ;  but 
soon  after  his  departure  for  London,  a  friend  sent  her  well- 
authenticated  intelligence  that  the  gentleman  had  a  wife 
still  living.  But  as  Mrs.  Digges  had  announced  her  own 
death  in  the  public  papers  in  order  to  deceive  her  husband, 
George  Anne  altogether  acquitted  him  of  intentionally 
deceiving  her  in  the  matter. 

We  know,  not  only  from  her  own  account,  but  from 
independent  testimony,  that  Mrs.  Bellamy  had  always  been 
lavish  both  of  her  money  and  of  her  influence  in  helping 
others.  But  looking  back  over  her  whole  life,  she  could 
remember  only  two  persons  who  ever  showed  her  any  prac- 
tical proofs  of  gratitude  for  favours  received.  Both  those 
persons  came  to  the  rescue  during  her  residence  in  Edin- 
burgh. A  Mr.  Hearne,  whom  she  had  recommended  to 
Calcraft  as  a  clerk,  and  who  had  since  prospered  exceedingly 
in  the  West  Indies,  sent  her  a  present  of  £200.  And  about 
the  same  time,  an  old  servant  of  hers  named  Daniel  Douglas 
came  up  to  her  in  the  street  and  asked  for  an  appointment 
at  her  house  on  very  special  business.  She  had  had  to  get 
rid  of  Douglas  some  years  before  because  all  her  maids  were 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  189 

much  too  partial  to  the  gay  Lothario ;  but  she  had  in- 
terested herself  to  get  him  a  better  situation  in  the  service 
of  Lord  Hume,  who,  when  Governor  of  Gibraltar,  had  made 
Douglas  his  major-domo.  Her  old  servant  now  informed 
her  that  his  savings,  together  with  a  handsome  legacy 
from  Lord  Hume,  amounted  to  £1100 ;  that  he  and  his  wife 
Avere  just  on  the  point  of  taking  possession  of  an  inn  for 
which  they  were  to  pay  £700,  and  that  the  object  of  his 
present  visit  was  to  beg  her  acceptance  of  the  remaining 
£400.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to  accept  the  worthy 
man's  offer,  and  he  took  his  leave  apparently  as  much 
mortified  by  her  refusal  of  his  money  as  most  people  would 
have  been  at  being  dunned  for  the  sum.  But  she  accepted 
Mr.  Hearne's  £200,  and  also  applied  to  him  over  and  over 
again  for  further  assistance.  She  could  not  altogether 
escape  from  her  London  creditors  even  in  Edinburgh;  but 
luckily  for  her  the  only  suit  which  was  brought  against  her 
in  the  Scottish  courts  failed,  on  the  ground  that  the  security 
had  been  fraudulently  obtained.  Of  her  Edinburgh 
theatrical  experiences  we  hear  comparatively  little,  though 
she  tells  one  good  story  which  would  be  incredible  of  any 
but  a  dour  Scottish  performer,  Mrs.  Kennedy  was  to  have 
played  Zara  in  The  Mournivg  Bride  for  the  benefit  of  some 
one  she  wished  to  befriend,  but  about  four  o'clock  on  the 
day  of  the  performance  was  taken  so  ill  that  her  appearance 
became  impossible.  In  this  dilemma,  a  sister  who  was 
twenty  years  older  than  herself,  and  totally  unfit  for  any- 
thing but  the  parts  of  old  nurses,  etc.,  which  she  usually 
played,  undertook  to  supply  Mrs.  Kennedy's  place. 

'The  audience  expressed  marks  of  disapprobation  throughout 
the  whole  of  her  playing,  but  particularly  so  when  she  died. 
Upon  which  she  rose  from  between  the  mutes,  and  advancing 
towards  the  front  of  the  stage,  she  told  the  audience  that  she  was 
concerned  she  could  not  acquit  herself  so  as  to  give  satisfaction ; 


190  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

but  as  good-nature  had  induced  her  to  undertake  the  part,  merely 
to  servo  the  person  whose  benefit  it  was,  she  hoped  they  would 
excuse  it.  Having  finished  her  speech,  she  hastened  to  the  place 
from  whence  she  had  risen,  and  threw  herself  down  again  between 
the  mutes,  who  covered  her  face  with  the  veil.  So  uncommon  an 
incident  had  such  an  eJlcct  upon  the  risible  muscles  of  the  whole 
audience,  as  well  as  myself,  who  was  just  entering  as  Almeria,  that 
it  was  impossible  to  compose  them  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.' 

Some  enthusiasts  at  Glasgow  had  built  a  theatre  there, 
and  invited  Mrs.  Bellamy  and  her  company  to  give  them  a 
series  of  performances;   so,  sending  on  their  scenery  and 
dresses  in  advance,  they  set  out  on  what  they  hoped  would 
prove  a  profitable  trip.     No  sooner  had  they  arrived   in 
Glasgow,  however,  than  they  found  that  a  fanatical  mob 
had  burned  the  new  theatre  overnight,  together  with  George 
Anne's  wardrobe  and  effects,  which  she  valued  at  £900.    On 
her  return  to  Edinburgh  after  this  disaster,  she  found  an 
execution  in  the  house  for  a  debt  which  Digges  had  left 
unpaid,  and  being  at  the  same  time  unable  to  discharge  her 
own  debts  in  Edinburgh,  she  borrowed  another  £200  from 
her  friend  Hearne,  and  determined  to  return  at  all  hazards 
to  London.     But  she  soon  found  that  £200  was  insufficient 
to  discharge  her  Edinburgh  liabilities,  and,  failing  other 
resource,  she  had  the  assurance  to  write  to  her  old  lover,  now 
become  Sir  George  Metham,  for  assistance.     He  not  only 
sent  her  the  sum  she  asked  for  by  return  of  post,  but  also 
invited  her  to  spend  a  few  days  at  his  seat  in  Yorkshire, 
where  her  (and  his)  son  was  then  staying  for  the  hohdays. 
On  her  arrival  he  welcomed  her  with  great  cordiality,  and 
as  soon  as  he  learned  that  she  was  still  in  debt  to  the  extent 
of  several  thousand  pounds,  made  a  proposal  to  sell  one  of 
his  estates  in  order  that  he  might  extricate  her,  and  at  the 
same  time  extricate  himself  from  similar  difficulties.     In 
the  meantime  he  promised  to  make  her  an  allowance  of 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  191 

seven  guineas  a  week,  though  ho  took  an  early  opportunity 
to  inform  her  that  during  the  distraction  caused  by  their 
separation  he  had  bound  himself  by  the  most  sacred  vows 
never  more  to  have  any  'tender  connection'  with  her. 
George  Anne  accepted  the  situation — and  the  money. 

'I  own  [she  writes]  the  satisfaction  I  received  from  finding 
myself  thus  reconciled  to  the  person  on  whom  I  first  bestowed 
my  heart  was  very  great.  A  series  of  the  most  complicated 
treachery  had  induced  me  to  use  him  ill  at  the  very  time  I  pre- 
ferred him  to  his  whole  sex,  and  the  assurance  of  his  future 
friendship  was  flattering  in  the  extreme.' 

She  also  persuaded  herself  that  besides  being  flattering, 
and  promising  to  be  serviceable,  it  did  her  honour  !  There 
is  little  doubt  that  she  hoped  her  old  lover's  vows  would 
prove  as  breakable  as  the  proverbial  lover's  promises,  for 
she  promptly  wrote  off  to  Digges  (or  rather  West)  to  inform 
him  that  although  she  had  nothing  to  reproach  him  with, 
they  must  never  meet  again. 

An  ensrasrement  at  Covent  Garden  was  obtained  almost 
immediately  on  her  arrival  in  London,  and  she  continued  to 
play  there  regularly  for  the  following  six  or  seven  years. 
But  her  creditors  at  once  became  troublesome,  and  in  order 
to  save  herself  from  arrest,  she  got  her  old  friend  Count 
Haslang,  the  Bavarian  ambassador,  to  take  her  into  his 
service.  He  signed  a  paper  setting  forth  that  'Whereas 
George  Anne  Bellamy,  my  housekeeper,  informs  me  that 
she  has  contracted  some  debts  which  she  is  anxious  to  pay, 
and  as  she  is  offered  an  engagement  at  Covent  Garden 
Theatre,  I  grant  her  my  leave  to  perform  at  the  said 
theatre,  upon  this  condition  only,  that  she  appropriates 
her  whole  salary  for  the  use  of  her  creditors.'  For  a  time 
Alderman  Cracroft  received  her  salary  as  it  became  due  and 
distributed  it  among  her  creditors ;  and  after  he  ceased  to 
act,  the  trusteeship  was  taken  up  by  her  friend  Woodward. 


192    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

She  was  received  in  the  theatre  with  great  applause,  and 
although  (not  through  any  fault  of  hers,  but  from  bad 
management,  she  says)  some  of  her  parts  were  far  from 
successful,  her  first  benefit  produced  the  greatest  receipt 
that  had  ever  been  known.  From  this  time,  however,  her 
reputation  as  an  actress  rapidly  declined.  How  it  was  that 
Count  Haslang's  ambassadorial  protection  failed  her  we  are 
not  informed  ;  but  the  remainder  of  her  history  consists 
largely  of  the  recital  of  her  pecuniary  diflficulties,  and  in- 
numerable arrests  for  debt.  In  1763  or  1764  Lord  Tyrawley 
died;  then  her  mother  died ;  and  in  1772  Calcraft  died.  In- 
stead of  selling  an  estate  to  pay  her  debts.  Sir  George  Metham 
had  fallen  out  with  her  almost  as  soon  as  he  came  to  London ; 
from  what  cause  she  does  not  say,  but  it  was  evidently  some- 
thing which  finally  determined  him  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  her.  Her  children  she  seldom  saw ;  Calcraft's  son 
was  in  the  navy,  and  Metham's  son  in  the  army.  Both  are 
spoken  of  as  dutiful  sons ;  but  her  daughter  is  stigmatised 
as  '  unnatural,  and  the  true  daughter  of  a  Calcraft.'  For 
many  years  she  seldom  heard  of  her  brother  O'Hara,  except 
when  he  was  in  want  of  money.  He  appears  to  have  been  a 
true  son  of  his  father,  not  without  natural  ability,  wit,  and 
bravery,  but  selfish,  callous,  and  devoted  to  nothing  but  his 
own  pleasure.  An  amusing  letter  from  him,  Avritten  in 
December  1775,  when  he  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  is 
not  only  characteristic  of  the  wild  young  man  himself,  but 
throws  an  interesting  sidelight  on  the  peerage  and  police  of 
the  time.  After  apologising  for  not  coming  to  supper  with 
her  on  the  previous  evening,  he  gives  an  account  of  the 
frolic  which  occupied  his  time.  It  appears  that  in  company 
with  the  Hon.  Walsingham  Boyle  and  some  other  choice 
spirits,  he  had  been  roaming  about  the  city  throwing  small 
shot  at  the  windows  of  unoffending  tradesmen,  till  the  whole 
company  were  taken  up  by  the  watch.    When  brought  before 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  193 

the  night  constable,  charged  with  breaking  windows  and 
disturbing  the  King's  peace,  it  so  happened  that  O'Hara  was 
charged  first,  while  his  companions  were  detained  in  an 
adjoining  room.  He  denied  breaking  anything,  stating  that 
he  had  only  thrown  some  harmless  sparrow-shot ;  but  the 
constable  told  him  he  was  a  black-looking  dog,  with  face 
enough  to  deny  anything,  and  swear  to  it  afterwards.  Then 
O'Hara,  who  happened  to  have  in  his  pocket  a  key  of  the 
Green  Park  belonging  to  a  noble  lord  of  his  acquaintance, 
bethought  himself  of  a  trick.  Loftily  desiring  the  constable 
to  treat  him  with  better  manners,  he  enquired  if  that  official 
could  read : — 


(  u 


Eead!"  repHed  he,  "ay,  and  write  too,  I'd  have  you  to 
know."— ^"  I  make  no  doubt,  sir,  of  your  erudition,"  said  1. 
"Addition!"  retorted  the  gentleman,  "yes,  fellow!  I  understand 
addition,  and  multiplication  too.  Don't  insult  me  upon  my  office, 
don't." — I  then  pulled  out  the  key  and  said — "Then,  sir,  do  me 
the  honour  to  look  on  this  key." — "  Key  !  what 's  this  !  a  crown 
and  G,  R.  V — "Yes,  sir,  pray  take  the  trouble  to  read  further." 
— "Let 's  see  :  R'  with  a  t  at  top  ;  what 's  that  ? " — "  An  abridge- 
ment, sir,  for  Right."— ''Don't  tell  me  of  your  regiment;  I  believe 
you  will  be  found  Right  Rogues.  H.  0.  N.  with  an  1  e  a-top ! 
What,  the  Devil,  is  this  your  conjuring  key  ?" — "  No,  sir,  what  you 
have  read  stands  for  Right  Honourable." — "L  and  a  d  a-top;  why, 
this  is  higgles-grifficks,  as  neighbour  Thompson  calls  it  at  our 
club." — "You  mistake,  sir;  it  is,  in  the  whole.  Right  Hmiourahle 

Lwd  Henry ."     Here  the  constable  started ;  and  staring  like 

the  sign  of  the  Saracen's  Head,  exclaimed,  "  Oh  Lord !  oh  Lord  ! 
watchman  !  you  willain  !  what  have  you  done  ?  I  shall  punish 
you  for  daring  to  take  up  a  Lord."— "Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  "and  I  shall 
punish  you  for  daring  to  detain  a  Peer  of  the  Realm." — "My  Lord, 
I  ask  your  Lordship's  pardon.  I  did  not  know  your  Lordship's 
Worship's  qualification.  Oh  !  you  dog  of  a  watchman  !  Was 
there  no  street-walkers,  no  vagabones,  but  you  must  take  up  a 
Lord  1  I  shall  be  in  the  Tower  tomorrow,  or  in  Newgate,  I  sup- 
pose?"— "Well,  Sir,  now  you  know  my  quality  I  suppose  I  may 
depart  1 " — "  Oh,  yes.  Here,  watchman  !  light  his  Lordship's  Wor- 
ship down  the  steps.     Shall  he  light  your  honour  home,  or  call  a 

N 


194  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

chair  1  And  I  once  more  beg  your  Lordship's  pardon  1 " — "  Sir,  I 
excuse  it,  and  only  desire  you  would  tell  your  people  to  be  more 
cautious  for  the  future.  And,  pray  Mr.  Constable,  a  word  with 
you.  Those  men  in  the  other  room  I  met  by  accident  last  night ; 
I  took  them  for  gentlemen  ;  but  engaging  at  cards  Avith  them  I 
find  them  sharpers.  They  have  pigeoned  me  out  of  my  money. 
Pray  secure  them,  and  I  '11  call  in  the  morning  to  prosecute  them." 
..."  Depend  upon  it,  my  Lord,  I  '11  secure  them." — "  Good  night, 
Mr.  Constable." — "  Good  night,  my  Lord." ' 

The  wily  O'Hara  then  went  on  his  way,  leaving  his 
comrades  in  durance  vile  to  get  out  of  the  scrape  as  best 
they  could.  When  O'Hara's  ship  was  stationed  at  Gibraltar 
in  1756,  he  was  received  into  the  best  society  of  the  place  as 
the  recognised  son  of  the  Governor,  Lord  Tyrawley.  But 
one  day  he  had  the  imprudence  (and  impudence)  to  hop 
along  the  ball-room,  in  imitation  of  his  father,  who  limped 
in  consequence  of  a  wound  received  in  battle ;  and  the  old 
lord  never  forgave  him.  A  short  time  after  this  incident, 
O'Hara  took  command  of  his  ship  during  the  captain's 
illness,  and  by  bravely  fighting  and  dismasting  an  enemy's 
vessel  of  superior  force  acquired  much  honour  in  his  pro- 
fession. But  when,  on  the  captain's  death,  it  was  proposed 
to  give  him  the  command,  Lord  Tyrawley  made  a  special 
request  to  the  admiral  that  his  son  should  not  be  promoted ; 
and  a  good  many  years  elapsed  before  he  attained  to  the 
position  of  post-captain. 

The  last  friend  with  whom  Mrs.  Bellamy  formed  a  familiar 
connection  was  Woodward  the  actor.  They  kept  house 
together  from  about  1767  till  1777,  when  he  died,  and  she 
describes  him  as  her  'patron,  father,  and  friend.'  He  left 
her  by  will  all  his  furniture,  plate,  linen,  china,  etc.,  together 
with  a  substantial  sum  which  was  to  be  devoted  to  buj-ing 
an  annuity  for  her.  But  there  was  a  lawsuit  over  the  will ; 
and,  as  in  a  similar  previous  case,  she  got  nothing.  As  long 
as  she  remained  on  the  stage,  there  were  squabbles  with  the 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  195 

other  performers.  But  we  may  shrewdly  suspect  that  she 
reports  only  those  in  which  she  came  off  victorious.  While 
she  was  in  the  King's  Bench,  Miss  Wilford,  a  rising  young 
actress,  had  played  Cordelia,  and  other  parts  usually  per- 
formed by  Mrs.  Bellamy.  Soon  after  her  release,  King  Lear 
was  announced  ;  and  the  prompter,  without  consulting  any- 
body, obliterated  Miss  Wilford's  name  from  the  bills,  and 
inserted  that  of  Mrs.  Bellamy.  The  deputy-manager  then 
came  to  her,  about  mid-day,  to  say  this  was  a  mistake,  and 
to  ask  her  to  allow  Miss  Wilford,  who  was  the  manager's 
special  protegee,  to  continue  to  play  the  part.  But  notwith- 
standing that  she  distinctly  refused,  she  found  that  the  play- 
bills were  being  again  altered,  and  a  note  added  to  them 
saying  that  the  announcement  of  her  name  was  a  mistake. 
The  Bellamy  spirit  flared  up.  She  instantly  sent  to  have 
hand-bills  printed  and  distributed  among  the  audience 
setting  forth  that  she  esteemed  herself  '  the  acknowledged 
child  of  their  favour,'  and  therefore  considered  it  her  duty  to 
be  ready  in  case  she  should  that  evening  be  honoured  with 
their  preference.  The  result  was  that  Avhen  Miss  Wilford 
appeared  on  the  stage  as  Cordelia,  she  was  received  with  a 
storm  of  disapprobation  which  compelled  her  to  retire. 
Whereupon,  George  Anne,  being  readj^  dressed  for  the  part,  at 
once  came  on,  and  was  received  with  a  thunder  of  applause. 
Another  little  incident  which  seems  to  have  greatly  pleased 
her  was  the  administration  of  a  thrilling  rebuke  to  sleeping 
royalty.  The  King  of  Denmark,  while  on  a  visit  to  this 
country,  went  to  Covent  Garden  to  see  Jane  Shore,  and  was 
soon  most  conspicuously  fast  asleep  in  his  box. 

'  Unwilling  that  he  should  lose  the  fine  acting  it  might  be 
supposed  he  came  to  see,  I  drew  near  his  box,  and  with  a  most 
violent  exertion  of  voice  (which  the  part  admitted),  cried  out — 
"Oh!  thou  false  Lord!"  by  which  I  so  effectually  roused  his 
majesty  that  he  told  the  unfortunate  Count  de  Bathmore  ...  he 


196  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

would  not  be  married  to  a  woman  with  such  a  bell  of  a  voice  on 
any  account.' 

But  a  quarrel  between  Colman  and  the  other  proprietors 
of  the  theatre  put  an  end  to  her  engagement;  and  when 
between  forty  and  fifty  years  of  age  she  became  dependent 
on  her  friends.  She  gave  up  her  apartments  and  her  servant ; 
went  to  live  in  a  garret  at  Lambeth ;  and,  having  exhausted 
her  credit  at  a  shop  in  the  neighbourhood  which  for  a  time 
supplied  her  with  food,  determined  to  commit  suicide.  She 
left  the  house  one  night  between  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  and 
after  wandering  about  St.  George's  Fields  for  a  time  in  the 
hope  that  some  of  the  freebooters  who  frequented  the  place 
would  murder  her,  she  at  length  descended  the  steps  at 
Westminster  Bridge,  and  sat  down  on  the  lowest  stair  to 
wait  for  the  tide  to  cover  her.  As  she  sat  there  in  the 
darkness,  she  heard  the  voice  of  a  child  piteously  asking  for 
a  piece  of  bread .  and  the  answering  wail  of  a  woman,  who, 
after  telling  the  girl  there  was  not  even  a  morsel  of  bread  to 
carry  to  her  dying  father,  exclaimed — '  My  God  I  my  God  ! 
what  wretchedness  can  compare  to  mine !  But  Thy  almighty 
will  be  done.'  These  last  words  had  an  electrical  effect  on  the 
intending  suicide.  She  was  struck  with  horror  at  the  crime 
she  had  been  about  to  commit,  and  burst  into  tears.  Then, 
feeling  in  her  pocket  for  a  handkerchief  and  finding  a  few 
coppers,  she  ran  up  the  steps  with  these  to  the  poor  wailing 
woman ;  and  afterwards  walked  quietly  home,  determined 
to  fight  her  battle  out  to  the  end.  On  the  following  day 
Mr.  Harris  of  Covent  Garden  called  on  her  and  gave  her  five 
guineas.  Then  came  Mrs.  Whitfield,  formerly  her  dresser, 
who  on  learning  the  condition  to  which  she  was  reduced,  at 
once  got  up  a  subscription  to  supply  her  late  mistress  with  a 
guinea  a  week.  Thus  encouraged,  she  applied  to  Mr.  Harris 
for  a  benefit ;  and  he  generously  granted  her  the  house  free 
of  expense,  as  well  as  interested  himself  with  the  performers, 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  197 

who  one  and  all  cheerfully  agreed  to  play  for  her.  Though 
near  midsummer,  she  says,  the  house  was  as  crowded  with 
nobility  as  though  it  were  mid-winter.  This  was  in  1783. 
But  no  long  time  after  we  hear  of  further  arrests,  and  of  sub- 
scriptions to  pay  off  threatening  creditors,  or  to  get  her  out 
of  the  King's  Bench.  And  she  was  not  only  troubled  with 
duns,  but  severely  afflicted  with  rheumatism.  Count  Haslang, 
who  had  made  her  a  small  allowance  ever  since  she  left  his 
service,  suddenly  died.  She  advertised,  under  an  assumed 
name,  for  a  situation  as  housekeeper,  or  attendant  on  an 
elderly  lady  or  gentleman ;  but  without  any  success.  Then, 
as  a  last  resource,  she  sat  down,  with  the  assistance  of 
Mr.  Bicknell,  to  compose  her  Memoirs,  or,  as  she  called  it, 
an  Apology  for  her  life.  Before  the  book  could  be  finished, 
however,  there  was  the  usual  trouble ;  aad  notwithstanding 
that  her  son  had  settled  on  her  a  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  bestowed  on  her  a  small 
pension,  we  find  her  writing  to  Tate  Wilkinson,  as  she  was 
correcting  her  proofs,  telling  him  that  she  would  have  to 
take  the  rules  of  the  King's  Bench  unless  she  could  pay  £29 
(which  she  had  no  prospect  of  getting)  before  the  following 
Saturday,  The  book  came  out  early  in  1785,  and  had  a 
considerable  success ;  but  the  profits  from  its  sale  were  at 
once  appropriated,  as  far  as  they  would  go,  to  satisfy  some 
of  her  creditors ;  and  she  soon  contracted  fresh  debts,  and 
borrowed  more  money.  The  Duchess  of  Bolton,  the  Duke 
of  Montagu,  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  Lord  Mansfield,  Sir  Francis 
and  Lady  Basset,  and  Lady  James  are  mentioned  by  her  as 
some  of  the  kind  patrons  who  afforded  her  pecuniary  assist- 
ance at  this  period.  And  on  May  the  24th  the  players  gave 
her  another  benefit.  Mrs.  Yates,  though  retired  from  the 
stage,  performed  the  part  of  the  Duchess  of  Braganza,  and 
Miss  Farren,  afterwards  Countess  of  Derby,  spoke  an  address 
which  concluded  with  the  couplet — 


198  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  But  see  !  oppress'd  with  gratitude  and  tears, 
To  pay  her  duteous  tribute  she  appears.' 

'  The  curtain  then  ascended,'  says  Frederick  Reynolds,  who 
was  present,  '  and  Mrs.  Bellamy  being  discovered,  the  whole 
house  immediately  rose  to  mark  their  favourable  inclinations 
towards  her,  and  from  an  anxiety  to  obtain  a  view  of  this 
once  celebrated  actress,  and,  in  consequence  of  the  publi- 
cation of  her  Life,  then  celebrated  authoress.  She  was  seated 
in  an  arm-chair,  from  which  she  in  vain  attempted  to  rise,  so 
completely  was  she  subdued  by  her  feelings.  She,  however, 
succeeded  in  muttering  a  few  words  expressive  of  her  grati- 
tude, and  then  sinking  into  her  seat,  the  curtain  dropped 
before  her.'  Such  was  the  last  public  appearance  of  the 
popular  actress  who,  as  Boaden  says,  had  once  been  no  mean 
rival  even  to  Mrs.  Gibber  herself. 

Whatever  sum  this  benefit  may  have  produced  was  prob- 
ably swallowed  up  by  her  hungry  creditors  as  before.  At 
any  rate,  within  twelve  months  we  find  her  once  again  com- 
pelled to  accept  the  rules  of  the  King's  Bench.  In  May 
1786  she  wrote,  from  Edith  Row,  St.  George's  Fields,  to 
Tate  Wilkinson : — 

'  I  wrote  some  months  ago  to  thank  you  for  your  ham,  but  have 
had  no  answer.  After  having  parted  iwith  my  last  guinea,  and 
even  my  necessaries,  to  avert  my  present  unpleasing  residence,  I 
was  obliged  to  draw  upon  my  son,  and  my  lovely  patroness  the 
Duchess  of  Devonshire  up  to  Michaelmas  quarter.  The  impositions 
are  incredil)le,  as  the  people  live  by  the  distress  of  others.  I  am 
obliged  to  give  sixteen  shillings  a  week  for  an  apartment — a 
chandler's  shop  in  front,  backwards  a  carpenter's ;  and  what  with 
the  sawing  of  boards,  the  screaming  of  three  ill-natured  brats,  the 
sweet  voice  of  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  who  is  particularly  vocifer- 
ous with  all  the  gossips  who  owe  her  a  penny,  with  a  cofiee-mill 
which  is  often  in  use,  and  is  as  noisy  as  London  Bridge  when  the 
tide  is  coming  in  ...  it  is  impossible  to  think  of  anything ;  added 
to  this,  I  have  not  a  place  for  a  servant.  Could  I  raise  sufficient 
to  furnish  me  an  apartment  I  should  be  tolerably  easy,  as  I  have 


GEORGE  ANNE  BELLAMY  199 

begun  a  work  which  seems  to  flatter  success,  though  a  great  under- 
taking, The  Characters  of  My  Own  Times.' 

She  goes  on  to  say  that  she  could  live  at  half  the  expense 
if  she  could  borrow  £30  or  £40  for  a  year,  which  she  would 
be  certain  to  repay,  as  it  was  her  intention  to  live  as  frugally 
as  possible;    and  if  Tate   could    manage    to   see   a  person 
she  names,  perhaps   he   might   stand   her    friend.      From 
want   of   exercise,  she  has  now  no   appetite;    and  in  the 
matter  of  apparel  she  is  reduced  to  one  old  cotton  gown ! 
And  so  it  went  on  for  two  more  years ;  until  on  February 
the  16th,  1788,  Death   made   the   final  arrest.      Frederick 
Reynolds  says  that  Mrs.  Bellamy  was  not  only  a  beautiful 
woman,  but  a  most  accomplished  actress,  and  that  in  the 
opinion  of  Quin,  Garrick,  and  other  critical  contemporaries, 
she  surpassed  even  Mrs.  Wojfington  in  conversational  powers. 
But  what  a  wreck  did  this  charming  creature  make  of  her 
life  !     It  may  perhaps  be  urged  that,  if  there  be  anything  in 
the  theory  of  heredity,  much  better  conduct  could  hardly 
have  been  expected  from  the  child  of  such  aberrant  specimens 
of  humanity  as  Lord  Tyrawley  and  Miss  Seal,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  education  and  example  which  they  both  afforded  her. 
But  there  is  little  need  to  comment  on  the  tragic  history. 
Poor,  good-natured,  unthinking  Bellamy  (as  Tate  Wilkinson 
calls   her)   has   herself  sufficiently  pointed  the  moral  and 
adorned  the  tale. 


FRANCES  ABINGTON 

After  Mrs.  Abington  became  a  celebrated  actress,  and  was 
not  only  allowed  to  dictate  to  her  contemporaries  in  matters 
of  dress,  but  was  received  in  tbe  best  fashionable  society  of 
her  time,  it  was  thought  necessary  to  provide  her  with  a 
respectable    pedigree;    and  her   descent   was   traced   from 
Charles  Barton,  Esquire,  of  Norton  in  Derbyshire,  a  gentle- 
man who,  about  the  time  of  the  accession  of  WilHam  the 
Third,  is  said  to  have  left  four  sons,  one  of  whom  was  a 
colonel  in  the  army,  another  a  ranger  of  one  of  the  royal 
parks,  and   a   third   a    prebendary   of   Westmmster.     The 
fourth,  whose  profession  is  not  stated,  is  claimed  as  the 
grandfather  of  Frances  Barton,  known  to  fame  as  the  great 
comic  actress  Mrs.  Abington,     It  would  probably  be  im- 
possible either  to  prove  or  to  disprove  this  genealogy ;  but 
whoever  or  whatever  her  grandfather  may  have  been,  it  is 
a  good  deal  more  certain  that  her  father,  after  having  been 
a  private  soldier  in  the  guards,  gained  a  precarious  liveli- 
hood at   a   cobbler's   stall   in   Windmill   Street,   near   the 
Haymarket ;  and  that  her  brother  for  many  years  worked 
as  an  ostler  in  Hanway  Yard,  Oxford  Street.     It  is  quite 
intelligible  that  Mrs.  Abington,  during  her  lifetime,  should 
desire  the  lowliness  of  her  parentage  and  the  squalor  of  her 
early  surroundings,  as  well  as  certain  other  matters  which 
the  veracious  historian  must  perforce  record,  to  be  unknown 
or  forgotten ;  but  if  the  early  diffiulties  which  distinguished 
persons  have  surmounted,  and  the  occasions  when  (to  use 
Carlyle's  phrase)  they  struck   their  colours  to  the   Devil, 


qJ^O'. 


FROM    THE     ENGRAVING     BY    WILLIAMSON     OF    THE     PORTRAIT     BY    SIR    JOSHUA    REYNOLDS 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  201 

were  to  be  glossed  over  or  concealed,  biography  would  be 
robbed  of  half  its  interest,  and  more  than  half  its  value. 
It  has  been  thought  a  matter  for  some  surprise  that  Mrs. 
Abington  escaped  the  dubious  honour  of  one  of  those  little 
biographies  such  as  were  dedicated  to  the  doings  of  Peg 
Woffington,  Mrs.  Baddeley,  Mrs.  Jordan,  and  other  theatrical 
notabilities,  by  writers  whose  principal  object  seems  to  have 
been  to  drag  the  frailties  of  those  ladies  from  their  dread 
abode.  The  explanation  of  this  rather  peculiar  circum- 
stance may  perhaps  be  found  in  some  particulars  which  are 
given  in  John  Taylor's  Records  of  Tiiy  Life  respecting  a 
certain  scurrilous  writer  named  Williams,  but  better  known 
by  his  pseudonym  of  '  Anthony  Pasquin.'  John  Taylor  tells 
us  that : — 

'Among  the  theatrical  performers  upon  whom  this  Anthony 
Pasquin  levied  contributions  was  Mrs.  Abington  ;  and  as  this  lady 
had  by  no  means  been  a  votaress  of  Diana  in  the  earlier  part  of 
her  life,  he  exercised  a  double  power  over  her,  for  if  she  rejected 
his  applications  for  pecuniary  assistance,  he  could  not  only  wound 
her  feelings  by  alluding  to  scenes  which  she  of  course  wished  to  be 
buried  in  oblivion,  but  could  bitterly  animadvert  upon  her  theatri- 
cal exertions  while  she  remained  on  the  stage.  Such  was  her  terror 
of  this  predatory  financier,  that  she  submitted  to  all  his  exactions. 
My  friend  William  Cooke,  the  old  barrister,  who  was  really  her 
friend,  endeavoured  to  rescue  her  from  this  thraldom,  but  in  vain. 
Pasquin  iuAdted  himself  to  dine  with  her  whenever  he  pleased,  and 
always  reversed  the  usual  order  of  things  by  making  her  pay  for 
him  attending  her  involuntary  invitations.' 

This  blackmailer  sometimes  got  into  trouble  with  more 
courageous  victims,  and  once  had  to  tly  to  America.  While 
he  was  there  his  death  was  reported,  and  the  old  barrister, 
Cooke,  congratulated  Mrs.  Abington  on  being  relieved  from 
all  further  apprehensions  on  his  account.  But  she  knew 
the  man,  and  surprised  Cooke  by  the  significant  quer}' — 
'  But  are  you  sure  he  is  dead  ? '      Cooke  had  no  doubts ; 


202    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

but  Mrs.  Abington's  instinct  proved  to  be  right ;  for  shortly 
afterwards  Pasquin,  having  compromised  with  his  pursuers, 
returned  to  England,  resumed  his  accustomed  methods,  and 
made  further  demands  upon  her  purse.  But  even  by 
paying  blackmail  Mrs.  Abington  did  not  altogether  prevent 
the  revelation  of  secrets  which  she  would  fain  have  had 
buried;  for  in  1795,  during  her  seven  years'  absence  from 
the  stage,  the  author  of  a  book  entitled  The  Secret  History 
of  the  Green-Room  (who,  however,  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  a  writer  of  the  '  Anthony  Pasquin '  type),  having,  as  he 
declared,  private  and  accurate  personal  knowledge  of  the 
real  facts  of  the  case,  set  himself  to  combat  and  contradict 
the  erroneous  accounts  of  her  which  had  appeared  in  various 
magazines.  Much  of  what  this  writer  alleges  is  confirmed 
by  John  Taylor  and  by  Arthur  Murphy,  both  of  whom  are 
to  be  ranked  among  her  admirers  and  her  familiar  acquaint- 
ances. But  the  only  formal  biography  of  Mrs.  Abington 
that  has  yet  appeared,  a  compilation  made  in  1888,  seventy- 
three  years  after  her  death,  quietly  ignores  the  scandalous 
part  of  these  revelations ;  and  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  follows  suit.  The  consequence  is  that  they  miss 
what  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  features  in  Mrs. 
Abington's  career ;  for  not  only  did  this  popular  actress  rise 
from  poverty,  squalor,  and  ignorance,  to  professional  fame 
and  independence,  but  by  her  beauty,  her  wit,  her  fascinat- 
ing manner,  and  by  her  industry,  fortitude,  perseverance, 
and  subsequent  propriety  of  conduct,  she  rose  from  a  deeper 
depth  of  degradation  to  attain  the  respect  and  regard,  not 
only  of  the  men,  but  of  some  of  the  most  distinguished  and 
worthy  of  the  ladies  of  quality  of  her  time. 

Frances  Barton  was  born  in  1731  according  to  some 
authorities,  in  1787  or  1738  according  to  others.  Her 
father's  earnings  were  too  small  to  provide  her  Avith  any 
regular  education,  and  not  always  enough,  apparently,  to 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  203 

provide  her  with  bread.  She  earned  something  by  running 
errands ;  and  at  an  early  age  was  engaged  for  this  purpose 
by  a  French  milliner  in  Cockspur  Street,  at  which  place 
some  have  surmised  that  she  laid  the  foundations  of  her 
knowledofe  of  French  and  her  taste  in  dress.  Then  she  was 
engaged  as  cookmaid  in  the  kitchen  where  Baddeley,  who 
afterwards  became  a  well-known  actor,  was  chef.  Then  she 
sold  flowers  in  the  streets,  and  acquired  the  nickname  of 
'Nosegay  Fan.'  Then  she  adopted  a  more  profligate  and 
degrading  means  of  support.  Arthur  Murphy  told  John 
Taylor  that  he  remembered  having  seen  her,  when  she  was 
about  twelve  years  of  age,  giving  recitations  at  the  Bedford 
and  the  Shakespeare  Taverns  under  the  Piazza  in  Covent 
Garden.  She  used  to  desire  the  waiter  to  inform  any 
private  company  in  the  tavern  rooms  that  she  would  deliver 
passages  from  Shakespeare,  and  other  authors,  for  a  small 
gratuity,  and  whenever  the  company  consented  she  stepped 
upon  the  table  to  deliver  her  recitations.  Murphy's  next 
sight  of  her  is  related  by  Taylor  as  follows : — 

'  A  party  of  his  friends,  consisting  of  four,  had  agreed  to  take 
an  excursion  to  Eichmond  in  Surrey,  and  to  pass  the  day  there. 
The  gentlemen  were  to  meet  at  the  Turk's  Head  Coffee-house 
opposite  Catherine  Street  in  the  Strand.  Mr.  Murphy  and  two  of 
the  friends  whose  names  I  have  forgotten,  were  punctual  to  the 
appointment ;  but  they  waited  for  the  fourth  till  their  patience 
was  nearly  exhausted.  At  length  Mr.  Murphy  said  he  knew 
where  to  find  the  fourth  gentleman,  and  would  go  in  pursuit  of 
him.  He  immediately  proceeded  to  a  notorious  house  under  the 
Piazza  in  Covent  Garden,  and  there  found  him.  This  person 
was  a  Mr.  Tracy,  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  well-known  at  that  time 
under  the  name  of  Beau  Tracy,  on  account  of  the  gaiety  and 
splendour  of  his  attire.  Finding  that  Tracy  was  in  the  house, 
Mr.  Murphy  proceeded  at  once  to  his  bed-room,  where  he  found 
the  Beau  under  the  hands  of  his  hairdresser,  and  not  half  attired. 
Mr.  Murphy  waited  very  patiently  till  the  grand  business  of  the 
toilet  was  concluded.     While  he  waited,  he  thought  he  saw  the 


204  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

curtains  of  the  bed  move,  as  if  there  were  a  person  within.  Mr. 
Murphy  asked  the  Beau  if  he  had  not  a  companion.  Tracy,  a 
careless  rake,  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  told  him  to  go 
and  have  a  chat  with  her,  as  he  would  find  her  a  lively  wench. 
Murphy  therefore  drew  one  of  the  curtains  aside,  and  entered  into 
conversation  with  a  fair  votaress  of  Venus,  whom  he  immediately 
recognised  as  the  girl  who  had  entertained  him  and  his  friends 
some  years  before  at  the  taverns.  She  did  not  seem  abashed  at 
being  seen  by  a  stranger,  but  conversed  with  him  with  ease,  spirit, 
and  humour.' 

The  next  time  Murphy  saw  this  young  Avoman  she  was 
recognised  as  a  first-rate  actress,  and  more  than  thirty  years 
afterwards  he  dedicated  to  her  one  of  the  most  successful  of 
his  plays,  because,  he  said,  she  had  given  to  his  mere  outline 
a  form,  a  spirit,  a  countenance,  and  a  mind,  and  by  her 
talents  had  made  the  play  her  own.  It  was  shortly  after 
this  rencontre  with  Murphy  that  she  happily  found  her  way 
on  to  the  boards.  She  had  somehow  formed  an  acquaint- 
ance with  Theophilus  Gibber,  and  when  that  disreputable 
person  opened  the  Haymarket  in  1755,  she  appeared  as 
Miranda  in  The  Busybody,  as  Miss  Jenny  in  The  Provoked 
Husband,  as  Sylvia  in  2%e  Recruiting  Offi^cer,  and  in  other 
parts,  with  considerable  success.  She  then  got  an  engage- 
ment with  Simpson  of  Bath,  where  King,  the  actor,  fell  in 
love  with  her,  and  roused  the  jealousy  of  a  Miss  Baker  who 
then  lived  with  him.  After  this  she  played  for  a  short  time 
in  1756  at  Richmond,  where  Lacy  became  enamoured  of  her, 
and  engaged  her  for  Drury  Lane  at  a  salary  of  thirty 
shillings  a  week.  Her  advance  was  by  no  means  a  rapid 
one,  for  Mrs.  Pritchard  and  Mrs.  Olive  were  in  possession  of 
all  the  best  parts,  while  Miss  Macklin  and  Miss  Pritchard 
had  hereditary  claims  on  the  managers  for  promotion  and 
took  precedence  of  the  new-comer.  Miss  Barton,  however, 
was  a  diligent  student,  both  in  and  out  of  the  theatre ;  and 
amongst  other  masters  she  engaged  Mr.  Abington,  a  neat, 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  205 

gentlemanly-looking  little  man,  who  played  in  the  orchestra, 
to  give  her  lessons  in  music.  According  to  the  Secret 
History,  she  about  this  time  caught  the  affections  of  a 
young  Creole,  who,  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  months, 
spent  £3000  on  her,  and  would  have  gone  on  spending  had 
not  his  father  sent  for  him  home.  When  she  saw  him  off  at 
Portsmouth  he  presented  her  with  a  note  for  £500,  and 
promised  to  return  to  England  for  the  purpose  of  marrying 
her ;  but  the  very  next  day  she  was  married  to  her  music- 
master,  Abington.  This  must  have  been  in  1759,  for  in  that 
year  she  is  first  described  in  the  bills  as  Mrs.  Abington, 
instead  of  as  Miss  Barton.  In  December  of  that  year,  seeing 
little  chance  of  advancement  at  Drury  Lane,  she  and  her 
husband  suddenly  started  off  for  Ireland. 

Smock-Alley  Theatre,  Dublin,  was  then  in  difficulties, 
Brown  and  his  performers  being  engaged  in  a  struggle  with 
poverty,  want  of  credit,  want  of  numbers,  and  a  deserted  and 
ruinous  theatre.  Brown  entertained  a  very  high  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Abington's  abilities,  and  had  promised  her  '  every  lead- 
ing character  she  could  wish,'  so  that  she  would,  at  any  rate, 
have  a  far  more  favourable  field  for  the  display  of  any 
ability  in  Dublin  than  in  London.  Tate  Wilkinson,  who 
had  also  been  engaged  by  Brown,  and  who  arrived  in 
Dublin  fourteen  days  after  she  did,  says  that  she  had  a  good 
and  gracious  reception,  but  not  having  the  London  stamp  of 
consequence,  people  merely  said  that  she  was  really  a  very 
clever  woman.  She  had  performed  such  parts  as  Dorcas  in 
The  Mock  Doctor  at  Drury  Lane,  but  Garrick,  either  not  per- 
ceiving her  merit  or  for  some  other  reason,  had  shown  no 
inclination  to  bring  her  advantageously  before  the  London 
public.  'But,'  says  Tate,  'my  then  intimate  friend,  Mrs. 
Abington,  formed  a  better  opinion  of  her  own  deserts,  and 
thinking  Mr.  Garrick  intended  injury  instead  of  acting 
kindly,  she,  without  ceremony,  suddenly  eloped  in  December 


206  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

to  her  former  manager  and  old  acquaintance,'  Brown. 
Hitchcock  tells  us  that  the  theatre  opened  on  Friday, 
December  the  11th,  with  the  Beaux'  Stratagem,  in  which 
Mrs.  Abington  took  the  part  of  Mrs.  Sullen.  The  following 
Wednesday  she  appeared  as  Beatrice  in  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing.  And  each  night  she  appeared  she  added  to  her 
reputation.  In  Carinna,  Clarinda,  Flora,  Violante,  Lady 
Fanciful,  Leanthe,  Maria  in  the  Nonjuror,  and  the  Fine 
Lady  in  Lethe,  she  surpassed  all  expectations,  so  that  before 
the  season  closed  she  was  considered  as  one  of  the  most 
promising  actresses  on  the  stage.  Tate  Wilkinson  says  that 
her  greatest  success  was  in  the  part  of  Kitty  in  the  new 
little  farce  of  High  Life  Beloiv  Stairs,  which  nobody  had 
thought  of  bringing  out  till  he  luckily  suggested  it. 
Then— 

'  The  Avhole  circle  were  in  surprise  and  rapture,  each  asking  the 
other  how  such  a  treasure  could  have  possibly  been  in  Dublin,  and 
in  almost  a  state  of  obscurity ;  such  a  jewel  was  invaluable,  and 
their  own  tastes  and  judgments  they  feared  would  justly  be  called 
in  question  if  this  daughter  of  Thalia  was  not  immediately  taken 
by  the  hand  and  distinguished  as  her  certain  and  striking  merit 
demanded.  .  .  .  High  Life  Below  Stairs  was  perpetually  acted,  and 
with  never-failing  success.  In  ten  days  after  its  being  performed 
Abington's  Cap  was  so  much  the  taste  with  the  ladies  of  fashion 
and  ton  that  there  was  not  a  milliner's  window,  great  or  small, 
but  was  ornamented  with  it,  and  in  large  letters  ABINGTON 
appeared  to  attract  the  passers  by.' 

Wilkinson  left  Dublin  in  March  1760,  leaving  Mrs, 
Abington,  he  says,  going  on  in  full  career  towards  the 
pinnacle  on  which  for  so  many  years  afterwards  she  sat 
smiling.  And  although  she  had  many  disadvantages  to 
contend  against,  including  the  benefits  of  Barry,  Woodward, 
Mossop,  Fitzhenry,  and  Dancer,  which  the  Dublin  people 
felt  bound  to  attend,  she  nevertheless  upheld  the  old  and 
sinking  house  for  a  time  by  her  single  arm  against  the 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  207 

many  attractions  of  the  new  and  elegant  theatre  in  Crow 
Street.  Shortly  afterwards  the  fashionable  world  of  Dublin 
insisted  on  having  Mrs.  Abington  at  the  Crow  Street  house, 
and  she  made  her  first  appearance  there  on  the  22nd  of 
May  in  the  character  of  Lady  Townly.  In  February  of  the 
following  year  she  added  very  greatly  to  her  already  high 
reputation  by  the  easy,  elegant,  finished  portrait  of  the 
woman  of  fashion  which  she  exhibited  in  the  Widow 
Belmour  of  Murphy's  The  Way  to  Keep  Hini,  then  per- 
formed for  the  first  time  in  Ireland.  And  she  not  only 
rose  thus  rapidly  in  her  profession,  but  she  became  in 
Dublin  what  for  so  many  years  she  was  afterwards  in 
London,  the  recognised  and  undisputed  leader  of  taste  in 
feminine  apparel.  This  season  of  prosperity  lasted  until  the 
end  of  1762,  when  Mrs.  Abington  returned  to  London. 

But  other  things  besides  professional  success  occurred 
during  these  three  years  in  Ireland.  In  the  rather  euphe- 
mistic biography  of  1888  we  are  told  that — 

'As  Mrs.  Abington  grew  popular,  her  husband  showed  unmis- 
takeable  signs  of  jealousy,  whether  justifiable  or  not  it  is  not  easy 
to  say,  but  things  came  to  such  a  pitch,  and  the  dissatisfaction 
grew  so  mutual  that  by  common  consent  they  parted.  A  regular 
agreement  was  some  time  after  entered  into,  and  she  covenanted  to 
pay  him  a  certain  sum  per  annum  on  condition  that  he  neither 
came  near  her  nor  in  any  way  molested  her.  That  he  lived  some 
years  in  receipt  of  this  pension  is  pretty  generally  believed,  but 
he  soon  disappeared  from  public  notice  and  was  speedily  for- 
gotten.' 

Availing  herself  of  the  liberty  afforded  by  this  separation, 
we  are  further  informed,  Mrs.  Abington  appears  to  have 
regarded  herself  as  a  single  woman  again,  and  to  have  been 
looked  upon  in  the  same  light  by  others,  so  that  she  was 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  admirers,  and  in  order  to  rid 
herself  of  these  troublesome  gentlemen  she  formed  what 
she  considered  an  honourable  alliance  with  Mr.  Needham, 


208  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

M.P.  for  Newry.  John  Taylor  gives  the  matter  a  rather 
different  colour.  According  to  his  version,  while  she  was  in 
Dublin— 

'  She  thought  it  necessary  to  assume  a  more  precise  deportment, 
and  even  to  affect  in  public  an  extraordinary  degree  of  purity. 
But  this  mask  was  so  entirely  throM'n  off  among  some  of  the  Irish 
noblemen,  and  other  characters  well  known  for  wealth  and  liber- 
ality, that  as  most  of  them  were  acquainted  with  each  other,  on 
comparing  notes  they  found  that  each  had  been  induced  by  her 
to  think  himself  the  only  person  distinguished  by  her  partiality.' 

When  she  allied  herself  with  Mr  Needham,  however,  she 
had  no  scruples  about  appearing  with  him  on  the  most 
intimate  and  familiar  footing ;  and  her  connection  with  him 
being  as  well  known  as  her  excellent  taste  in  dress,  many  of 
the  milliners  put  bills  in  their  windows  announcing  that 
'  Abington  caps  maybe  had  here  for  those  thut  Need'em' 
The  author  of  The  Secret  History  of  the  Green-Room  states 
that  the  rupture  with  her  husband  was  caused  by  her 
connection  with  Needham.  He  also  informs  us  that  the 
enamoured  M.P. — 

'enjoyed  a  singular  satisfaction  in  reading,  explaining,  and  com- 
municating every  kind  of  cultivation  to  a  mind  he  found  so 
happily  disposed  to  receive  and  profit  by  his  instructions ;  and 
from  this  time  Mrs.  Abington  became  attached  to  polite  pursuits, 
in  which  by  her  perseverance  she  is  now  [i.e.  in  1795]  so  accom- 
plished.' 

It  was  in  consequence  of  Needham  being  called  to  England 
on  business,  towards  the  end  of  1762,  that  she  then  severed 
her  connection  with  the  Dublin  theatre,  in  order  that  she 
might  accompany  him.  He  was  in  a  bad  state  of  health ; 
and  she  attended  him  to  Bath,  and  other  invalid  resorts, 
until  he  died.  '  On  the  approach  of  death,'  says  the  author 
of  The  Secret  History, '  he  bethought  himself  of  leaving  out 
of  the  reach  of  adversity  a  faithful  friend  and  companion 
who  had  devoted  herself  to  him,'  and  '  his  heirs  discharged 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  209 

in  a  very  honourable  manner  the  provision  he  had  made  for 
her.' 

As  soon  as  she  had  recovered  from  the  loss  of  her  lover, 
she  devoted  herself  again  with  great  assiduity  to  the  exercise 
of  her  profession.  Garrick  welcomed  her  warmly  to  Drury 
Lane;  and  although  Mrs.  Pritchard  and  Mrs.  Clive  then 
monopolised  almost  all  the  best  characters,  she  was  able  to 
make  a  favourable  impression  in  the  Widow  Belmour,  in 
Araminta  in  The  School  for  Lovers,  in  Belinda  in  All  in  the 
Wrong,  and  in  other  parts.  Her  first  appearance,  after  an 
absence  of  five  years,  was  on  November  the  27th,  1765,  and 
she  remained  at  Drury  Lane  for  the  following  fifteen  years. 
Davies,  in  his  Life  of  Garrick,  written  in  1780,  when 
Mrs.  Abington  was  in  the  zenith  of  her  fame,  is  very  en- 
thusiastic in  his  description  of  her  many  surpassing  merits. 
The  part  of  Charlotte  in  The  Hypocrite,  he  says,  had  been 
most  excellently  performed  by  Mrs.  Oldfield,  and  at  a  later 
date  by  Mrs.  Wofl&ngton  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  conceive  that  more  gaiety,  ease,  humour,  and 
grace  than  Mrs.  Abington  exhibited  in  this  part  could 
possibly  have  been  assumed  even  by  those  great  actresses ; 
and  her  ideas  of  it  were  entirely  her  own,  for  she  had  seen 
no  pattern.  He  then  gives  the  following  more  detailed 
description  of  her : — 

'Her  person  is  formed  with  great  elegance,  her  address  is 
graceful,  her  look  animated  and  expressive.  To  the  goodness  of 
her  understanding,  and  the  superiority  of  her  taste,  she  is  indebted 
principally  for  her  power  of  pleasing;  the  tones  of  her  voice  are 
not  naturally  charming  to  the  ear,  but  her  incomparable  skill  in 
modulation  renders  them  perfectly  agreeable ;  her  articulation  is 
so  exact  that  everj^  syllable  she  utters  is  conveyed  distinctly,  and 
even  harmoniously.  Congreve's  Millamant  of  past  times  she  has 
skilfully  modelled  and  adapted  to  the  admired  coquette  and  the 
lovely  tyrant  of  the  present  day.  All  ages  have  their  particular 
colours  and  variations  of  follies  and  fashions  ;    these  she  under- 


210    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

stands  perfectly,  and  dresses  them  to  the  taste  of  the  present 
hour. 

What  chiefly  delighted  the  public  in  Mrs.  Abington's 
acting  was  the  easy  manner,  as  of  one  accustomed  to  the 
company  of  distinguished  persons  of  high  rank  and  graceful 
behaviour,  with  which  she  represented  the  tine  lady  of 
fashion.  But  though  she  was  most  admired,  and  doubt- 
less most  admirable,  in  parts  such  as  those  of  Lady  Townly, 
Lady  Betty  Modish,  Millamant,  or  Beatrice,  yet,  as  Davies 
declares : — 

'  So  various  and  unlimited  are  her  talents  that  she  is  not  confined 
to  females  of  a  superior  class ;  she  can  condescend  occasionally  to 
the  country  girl,  the  romp,  the  hoyden,  and  the  chambermaid,  and 
put  on  the  various  humours,  airs,  and  whimsical  peculiarities  of 
these  under-parts ;  she  thinks  nothing  low  that  is  in  nature ;  nothing 
mean  or  beneath  her  skill  which  is  characteristical,' 

Davies  also  assures  us  that  '  the  decency  of  her  behaviour 
in  private  life  has  attracted  the  notice  and  gained  her  the 
esteem  of  many  persons  of  quality  of  her  own  sex ' ;  but, 
though  this  may  have  been  true  enough  when  Davies 
wrote,  it  scarcely  fits  the  circumstances  of  the  earlier  years  of 
her  celebrity  in  London,  any  more  than  it  does  those  of  her 
previous  life  in  Ireland.  Davies  seems  to  have  thought, 
also,  that  Mrs.  Abington's  many  places  of  abode  were  to 
be  accounted  for  by  her  prudence  in  adapting  her  style  of 
living  to  her  means  for  the  time  being,  so  that  when  in  the 
full  swing  of  her  popularity  a  fine  house  in  Piccadilly,  opposite 
the  Green  Park,  was  not  an  unjustifiable  extravagance, 
seeing  that,  at  other  times,  when  not  so  rich  in  purse,  she 
was  content  with  far  humbler  dwellings.  The  author  of  The 
Secret  History,  however,  states  that  the  various  houses  were 
used  contemporaneously ;  and  gives  a  widely  different  version 
of  the  matter.  After  her  arrival  at  the  pinnacle  of  fame,  he 
informs  us,  being  somewhat  conversant  in  amours : — 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  211 

'She  now  resolved  to  sepcarate  her  lovers  into  two  different 
classes :  the  first,  those  whose  liberality  might  enable  her  to  live 
in  splendour  ;  and  the  second,  those  whom  her  humour  pitched 
upon.  For  this  purpose  she  had  various  houses  in  town  for  her 
various  admirers ;  her  assignations  with  Mr.  Jefferson,  formerly  of 
Drury  Lane,  were  made  at  a  house  near  Tottenham  Court  Eoad, 
while  my  Lord  Shelburne,  now  Marquis  of  Lansdown,  allowed  her 
=£50  per  week,  gave  her  an  elegant  house  at  the  corner  of  Clarges 
Street,  Piccadilly,  and  continued  this  generosity  till  he  married. 
Mr.  Dundas  succeeded  his  Lordship  as  her  humble  servant.' 

It  must  be  admitted  that  a  fine  house  in  Piccadilly,  with 
a  carriage  and  footmen  (to  say  nothing  of  other  contempo- 
raneous residences),  would  have  been  difficult  to  keep  up  on 
Mrs.  Abington's  salary  of  £12  per  (acting)  week,  £60  for 
clothes,  and  a  benefit.  And  although  she  had  an  annuity 
(the  amount  of  which  is  not  stated)  from  the  late  Mr.  Need- 
ham,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  she  had  all  the  time  to 
find  means  for  the  separate  maintenance  of  that  dapper  little 
gentleman,  Mr.  Abington.  There  is  no  doubt  that  she  per- 
sistently tried  to  push  her  way  upward  in  the  social  strata. 
When  she  was  in  Paris  in  1771  we  find  her  endeavouring  to 
scrape  acquaintance  with  Horace  Walpole.  But  that  very 
astute  dilettante,  fond  as  he  was  of  the  society  of  actresses, 
was  not  at  that  time  to  be  caught,  and  in  a  very  polite  and 
stately  manner  put  her  off. 

'  If  I  had  known,  Madam,  of  your  being  in  Paris  [he  writes], 
before  I  heard  it  from  Colonel  Blaquiere,  I  should  certainly  have 
prevented  your  flattering  invitation,  and  have  offered  you  any 
services  that  could  depend  on  my  acquaintance  here.  It  is  plain 
I  am  old,  and  live  with  very  old  folks,  when  I  did  not  hear  of  your 
arrival.  However,  Madam,  I  have  not  that  fault  at  least  for  a 
Veteran,  the  thinking  nothing  equal  to  what  they  admired  in  their 
youth.  I  do  impartial  justice  to  your  merit,  and  fairly  allow  it 
not  only  equal  to  that  of  any  actress  I  have  ever  seen,  but  believe 
the  present  age  will  not  be  in  the  wrong  if  they  hereafter  prefer 
it  to  those  they  may  live  to  see.  Your  allowing  me  to  wait  on  you 
in  London,  Madam,  will  make  me  some  amends  for  the  loss  I  have 


212  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

here ;  and  I  shall  tike  an  early  opportunity  of  assuring  you  how- 
much  I  am,  Madam,  your  most  obliged  humble  servant. 

'HoR.  Walpole.' 

But  It  was  eight  years  before  Walpole's  '  early  opportunity ' 
arrived. 

Garrick  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  with  several  of  his 
actresses,  but  no  performer  tried  his  temper  as  Mrs.  Abington 
did,  especially  after  Mrs.  Olive's  retirement  in  1769,  when 
the  Abington  knew  as  well  as  anybody  that  in  the  comedy 
line  she  was  without  a  serious  rival.  Garrick  once  went  the 
length  of  saying :  '  She  is  below  the  thought  of  any  honest 
man  or  woman ;  she  is  as  silly  as  she  is  false  and  treacher- 
ous ' ;  and  perhaps  it  would  not  have  been  surprising  if  he 
had  said  even  worse  things,  in  the  state  of  distraction  to 
which  her  perversity  sometimes  drove  him.  In  May  1774, 
when  an  agreement  was  made  with  her  for  three  years,  on 
the  terms  already  mentioned,  namely,  £12  a  week,  a  benefit, 
and  £60  for  clothes,  a  memorandum  was  drawn  up  to  show 
how  many  times  she  had  played  during  the  previous  season. 
Tragedy  fairly  divided  the  time  with  comedy  in  those  days ; 
and  it  appeared  that  while  Mrs.  Abington  had  only  once  been 
called  upon  to  play  more  than  three  times  in  any  one  week, 
her  total  appearances  from  October  7  to  February  19  had 
only  been  forty- two,  or  rather  less,  on  an  average,  than  twice 
a  week.  Yet  she  was  continually  talking  of  her  'great 
fatigue '  and  '  hard  labour.'  The  kind  of  thing  which  natu- 
rally roused  Garrick's  ire  was  the  receipt  of  a  note  of  the 
following  type,  just  before  the  time  for  the  performance  of  a 
play  in  which  she  was  advertised  to  appear : — 

'  Mrs.  Abington  sends  the  part  of  Letitia  in  The  Clwleric  Man  to 
Mr.  Hopkins  in  order  to  his  receiving  Mr.  Garrick's  commands  as 
to  the  person  he  is  pleased  to  give  it  in  study  to  for  the  next 
representation  of  the  play.  Mr.  Cumberland  has  oliligingly  given 
his  consent  to  her  resigning  of  the  part,  and  Mrs.  Abington  flatters 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  213 

herself  that  Mr.  Garrick  will  have  the  goodness  and  complaisance 
to  relieve  her  from  a  character  so  little  suited  to  her  very  confined 
style  of  acting.  Mrs.  Abington  has  been  very  ill  for  some  days 
past,  but  would  not  importune  Mr.  Garrick  with  complaints,  as  she 
saw  there  was  a  necessity  for  her  exerting  herself  till  the  new 
tragedy  was  ready.' 

Boaden,  who  edited  the  Garrick  correspondence,  remarks 
on  this,  that  those  who  had  witnessed  Mr.  Cumberland's 
irritation,  and  his  acquiescence  under  such  provocations, 
would  have  a  just  notion  how  'obligingly'  he  had  'con- 
sented' to  resign  the  best  actress  in  the  theatre  on  the 
getting  up  of  a  new  comedy !  During  the  years  1774, 1775, 
and  1776  Garrick  appears  to  have  had  great  difficulty  in 
getting  her  to  do  anything  but  write  angry  and  sarcastic 
letters.  One  Wednesday  morning  in  1774,  for  example,  he 
received  the  following  epistle  : — 

'  Indeed,  Sir,  I  could  not  play  Violante  to-morrow  if  my  happi- 
ness in  the  next  world  depended  upon  it :  but  if  you  order  me,  I 
will  look  it  over,  and  be  perfect  as  soon  as  possible.  ...  I  am  sure 
if  you  are  pleased  to  give  yourself  a  moment's  time  to  reflect  upon 
my  general  conduct  in  the  theatre,  you  will  see  that  I  ever  made 
my  attention  to  my  business  and  my  duty  to  you  my  sole  object 
and  ambition.' 

From  Garrick's  letters  to  her,  we  infer  that  his  reflections 
enabled  him  to  see  nothing  of  the  kind.  On  September  26, 
1774,  he  addressed  her  to  the  following  effect: — 

'Dear  Madam, — As  no  business  can  be  done  Avithout  being 
explicit,  I  must  desire  to  know  if  you  choose  to  perform  Mrs.  Sullen. 
The  part  is  reserved  for  you,  and  the  play  must  be  acted  soon : 
whoever  does  it  with  Mr.  Smith  must  do  it  with  me — supposing 
that  1  am  ever  able  to  be  the  rake  again.  We  talked  a  great  deal 
last  night,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  without  my  having  the  least 
idea  what  to  do  in  consequence  of  it.  ...  I  cannot  create  better 
actors  than  we  have,  and  we  must  both  do  our  best  with  them. 
Could  I  put  you  upon  the  highest  comic  pinnacle,  I  certainly  would 
do  it ;  but  indeed,  my  dear  Madam,  we  shall  not  mount  much  if 


214  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

your  cold  counteracting  discourse  is  to  pull  us  back  at  every  step. 
Don't  imagine  that  the  gout  makes  me  peevish ;  I  am  talking  to 
you  in  the  greatest  good-humour,  but  if  we  don't  do  our  best  with 
the  best  we  have,  it  is  all  fruitless  murmuring  and  inactive 
repining.' 

An  endorsement  characterises  the  copy  of  this  as — 'A 
letter  to  Mrs.  Abington,  in  which  her  manner  of  doing  and 
saying  is  not  described  amiss.'  In  the  folloAving  year 
matters  seem  to  have  got  worse  instead  of  better.  On  the 
6th  of  March  she  writes : — 

'  Mr.  Garrick  behaves  with  so  much  unprovoked  incivility  to 
Mrs.  Abington  that  she  is  at  a  loss  how  to  account  for  it ;  and 
her  health  and  spirits  are  so  much  hurt  by  it  that  she  is  not  able 
to  say  tvhat  or  when  she  can  play.  If  he  had  been  pleased  to  give 
her  a  day's  notice,  she  could  have  played  her  part  in  the  West 
Indian ;  but  it  was  not  possible  for  her,  at  three  o'clock,  to  read 
her  part,  get  her  clothes  ready,  and  find  a  dresser,  all  by  six 
o'clock,  and  that  too  at  a  time  when  she  is  in  a  very  weak  and  ill 
state  of  health.  If  Mr.  Garrick  really  thinks  Mrs.  Abington  so 
bad  a  subject  as  he  is  pleased  to  describe  her  in  all  the  companies 
he  goes  into,  she  thinks  his  remedy  is  very  easy,  and  is  Avilling  on 
her  part  to  release  him  from  so  great  an  inconvenience  as  soon 
as  he  pleases ;  and  only  begs,  while  he  is  pleased  to  continue  her 
in  his  theatre,  that  he  will  not  treat  her  with  so  much  harshness 
as  he  has  hitherto  done.' 

To  this  Garrick  repHed  on  the  following  morning : — 
'  Madam, — Whether  [it  be]  a  consciousness  of  your  unaccount- 
able and  unwarrantable  behaviour  to  me,  or  that  you  have  really 
heard  of  my  description  of  you  in  all  companies,  I  will  not  inquire  ; 
whatever  I  have  said  I  will  justify,  for  I  always  speak  the  truth.  Is  it 
possible  for  me  to  describe  you  as  your  note  of  yesterday  describes 
yourself?  You  want  a  day's  notice  to  perform  a  character  you  played 
originally,  and  which  you  have  appeared  in  several  times  this 
season :  you  knew  our  distress  yesterday  almost  as  soon  as  I  did, 
and  did  not  plead  the  want  of  a  day's  notice,  clothes,  hairdresser, 
etc.,  but  you  refused  on  account  of  your  health,  though  you  were 
in  spirits  and  rehearsing  a  new  farce.  You  suffered  us  to  be  obliged 
to  another  lady,  of  another  house,  to  do  your  business,  when  neither 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  215 

our  distresses,  the  credit  of  the  theatre,  or  your  own  duty  and 
justice,  could  have  the  least  influence  upon  you.  How  could  I 
give  you  a  day's  notice  when  I  knew  not  of  Mr.  Reddish's  illness 
but  in  the  morning  1  and  you  were  the  first  person  I  sent  to,  be- 
tween twelve  and  one,  and  not  at  three  o'clock.  It  was  happy  for 
us  that  we  found  a  lady,  though  not  of  our  company,  who  had 
feeling  for  our  distress,  and  relieved  us  from  it  without  requiring 
a  day's  notice,  or  wanting  anything  but  an  opportunity  to  show 
her  politeness.  These  are  serious  truths,  Madam,  and  are  not  to 
be  described  like  the  lesser  peccadillos  of  a  fine  lady.  A  little  time 
will  show  that  Mr.  Garrick  has  done  essential  offices  of  kindness 
to  Mrs.  Abington,  when  his  humanity  only,  and  not  his  duty, 
obliged  him.  As  to  your  wishes  of  delivering  me  from  the  incon- 
venience of  your  engagement,  that,  I  hope,  will  soon  be  another's 
concern :  my  greatest  comfort  is  that  I  shall  soon  be  delivered 
from  the  capriciousness,  inconsistency,  injustice,  and  unkindness 
of  those  to  whom  I  always  intended  the  greatest  good  in  my 
power.' 

He  adds  that  her  refusal  to  play  that  evening  has  obliged 
him,  though  but  just  recovered  from  a  dreadful  disorder, 
to  risk  a  relapse.  But  Mrs.  Abington  was  not  the  sort  of 
person  to  remain  silent  under  a  rebuke  of  this  kind ;  and 
within  a  few  hours  Garrick  received  the  following  reply : — 

'  Sir, — From  your  not  recollecting  some  circumstances,  your 
letter  is  a  misrepresentation  of  facts  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end.  You  are  pleased  to  say  the  ?Fest  Indian  has  been  performed 
several  times  this  season ;  it  has  really  been  acted  but  once,  and 
that  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  winter.  You  say  I  was  well  and 
in  spirits  at  the  rehearsal.  Indeed,  Sir,  whoever  told  you  so  de- 
ceived you.  I  was  ill,  and  not  able  to  hold  myself  up  in  my  chair. 
You  say  I  knew  the  distress  of  the  theatre  at  twelve  o'clock.  I 
saw  very  little  distress,  for  it  was  plain  that  The  Country  Girl  could 
have  been  acted  from  the  instant  that  Mr.  Eeddish's  illness  was 
known ;  the  design  therefore  of  changing  it  to  the  West  Indian 
could  only  be  to  hurt  and  hurry  me  ;  and  if  I  refused,  it  was  a 
good  pretence  for  borrowing  a  performer  to  play  my  part,  in  order 
to  give  colour  to  the  abuse  that  was  intended  for  me  in  the  papers 
this  morning.     I  have,  however,  been  too  attentive  to  my  business. 


216  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

and  too  faithful  a  servant,  both  to  you,  Sir,  and  to  the  public,  to 
suffer  from  such  malice  and  ill-nature ;  and  if  you  refuse  me  the  in- 
dulgence that  is  due  to  me  for  all  the  labour  and  attention  I  have 
given  to  the  theatre,  for  this  winter  in  particular,  and  for  many 
years  past,  I  must  at  least  remember  what  is  due  to  myself ;  and 
if  the  newspapers  are  to  be  made  the  vehicles  of  your  resentment 
to  me,  I  must  justify  myself  in  the  best  manner  I  can.' 

Garrick  had  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer ;  and  he  must  have 
sat  down  instantly  to  compose  the  following  rejoinder,  for 
it  is  dated  the  same  evening : — 

'  Madam, — I  beg  that  you  will  indulge  yourself  in  ^vriting  what 
you  please  and  when  you  please.  If  you  imagine  that  I  in  the 
least  countenance,  or  am  accessory  to,  any  scribbling  in  the  papers, 
you  are  deceived.  I  detest  all  such  methods  of  showing  my  resent- 
ment. I  never  heard  of  the  disorder  which  was  occasioned  in  The 
Maid  of  the  OalcR :  I  was  too  ill  to  be  troubled  with  it :  and  Mr. 
King,  whom  you  have  always  unjustly  suspected,  never  mentioned 
it  to  me,  nor  did  I  know  of  the  paragraph  you  allude  to  till  it  was 
shown  to  me  this  morning.  Could  The  Cmmtry  Girl  have  been 
done  with  credit  yesterday,  I  should  not  have  distressed  myself 
to  have  applied  to  you,  or  to  have  borrowed  a  lady  from  another 
theatre.  As  I  will  always  retract  the  most  insignificant  mistake 
I  may  have  made,  I  find  by  the  prompter  that  the  West  Indian 
has  been  performed  but  once.  May  I  venture,  if  Braganza  cannot 
be  performed  on  Thursday,  to  put  your  name  in  the  bills  for  Lady 
Bab  in  The  Maid  of  the  Oaks,  or  for  any  other  part?  I  most 
sincerely  assure  you  that  I  do  not  ask  you  this  to  distress  you, 
but  to  carry  on  the  business  in  the  best  manner  I  am  able. — I  am, 
Madam,  your  most  humble  Servant, 

'D.  Garrick.' 

'  Mrs.  Yates  has  not  sent  ^^^ord  that  she  cannot  play  on  Thursday, 
and  I  hope  you  may  be  excused.  I  ask  the  question  to  prevent 
trouble  to  both.     The  writing  peevish  letters  will  do  no  business.' 

If  Garrick  had  had  several  Mrs.  Abingtons  in  his  company, 
he  would  not  only  have  needed  a  numerous  staff  of  secre- 
taries, but  also  Napoleon's  power  of  dictating  to  half  a 
dozen  or  so  of  them  simultaneously.     The  correspondence 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  217 

goes  on,  in  a  somewhat  similar  strain,  throughout  the  year. 

One  day  she  writes  : — 

'  Sir, — A  paragraph  to  say  that  The  Sultan  is  withdrawn  would 
be  a  very  singular  and  a  very  new  object ;  however,  as  that  threat 
is  only  meant  in  harshness  and  insult  to  me,  it  is  neither  new  nor 
singular ;  and  all  the  answer  I  should  make  to  such  a  paragraph 
would  be  that  I  had  withdrawn  myself  from  the  theatre,  which  I 
should  most  undoubtedly  have  done  some  years  since,  but  that 
Mr.  Garrick  has  so  much  real  goodness  in  his  nature  that  no  ill 
effects  need  ever  be  dreaded  where  he  has  the  entire  government. 
I  will  endeavour,  and  I  think  it  is  possible,  to  be  ready  by 
Tuesday,  as  I  see  The  Sultan  is  advertised  for  that  day;  but  I 
shall  want  many  little  helps,  particularly  in  the  business  of  the 
dinner  scene,  and  about  my  song,  as  I  am  at  best  a  bad  stick  in 
that  line,  as  well  as  in  most  others,  God  knows.' 

On  another  occasion,  when  she  had  apparently  been  absent, 
and  Hopkins  had  been  instructed  to  inquire  why,  she  com- 
plains as  follows : — 

'  Mrs.  Abington  has  kept  her  room  with  a  fever  for  some  days 
past  or  she  would  have  complained  to  Mr.  Garrick  of  a  letter  she 
has  received  from  Mr.  Hopkins,  dictated  in  a  spirit  of  insincerity 
and  misrepresentation.  He  says  it  is  written  by  order  of  Mr. 
Garrick,  which  Mrs.  Abington  is  the  more  surprised  at,  as  she  is 
not  conscious  that  her  conduct  in  the  theatre  has  deserved  so 
much  acrimony  and  ill-humour.  She  apprehends  for  some  time 
past  she  has  had  enemies  about  Mr.  Garrick,  and  it  is  to  them  she 
supposes  herself  indebted  for  the  very  great  change  in  Mr. 
Garrick's  behaviour,  after  all  the  fatigue  she  has  undergone,  and 
the  disappointments  she  ha,s  experienced  in  respect  to  the  business 
that  was  by  agreement  to  be  done  for  her  this  winter.' 

Sometimes  she  objects  to  a  part  which  has  been  allotted 
to  her;  as  in  the  following  note,  which  is  dated  merely 
'  Tuesday,  3  o'clock,'  but  which,  as  likely  as  not,  refers  to  a 
performance  to  take  place  the  same  day : — 

'  Mrs,  Abington  presents  her  compliments  to  Mr.  Garrick  and 
is  sorry  to  read  of  his  indisposition ;  she  is  very  ill  herself,  and 
exceedingly  hurt  that  he  should  accuse  her  of  want  of  zeal  for  the 


218    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

cause,  as  she  flatters  herself  that  Mr.  Garrick  is  fully  persuaded 
she  has  never  been  wanting  in  duty  and  attachment  to  the  busi- 
ness of  his  theatre.  But  she  thinks  she  is  entitled  to  the  same 
degree  of  indulgence  that  is  given  to  other  performers,  and  hoped 
that  Mr.  Garrick  would  have  had  the  goodness  to  let  her  come  out 
in  some  part  of  stronger  comic  humour  than  that  of  Millamant. 
She  begs  that  he  will  not  be  angry,  or  treat  her  with  harshness, 
as  he  will  certainly  find  her  a  very  faithful  'and  useful  subject,  if 
he  will  condescend  to  think  her  worth  a  very  little  degree  of 
attention  and  consideration.' 

On  the  27th  of  May  she  writes  to  Garrick  telling  him  she 
is  very  much  indisposed,  and  cannot  act  the  following  night ; 
but  from  the  tenor  of  the  letter  we  may  shrewdly  suspect 
that  indisposition  did  not  in  this  case  spell  illness,  for  she 
says : — 

'  If  the  consideration  of  the  salary  I  receive  is  a  reason  for  my 
being  called  out  to  play  to  empty  benches,  I  must  beg  leave  to 
decline  receiving  any  more  pay  at  your  office ;  at  the  same  time 
I  take  the  liberty  of  assuring  you  that  I  shall  be  ready  and  willing 
to  stay  in  town  for  the  purpose  of  acting  with  you,  if  you  think 
proper  to  call  for  my  services,  and  in  such  case  shall  accept  of  any 
portion  of  my  salary  that  you  may  think  I  deserve  for  such 
attendance.' 

In  July  she  wrote  him  a  letter,  which  Garrick  endorsed — 
'  Mrs.  Abington  about  Pope's  parts,'  and  in  which  she  says : — 

'  The  parts  to  which  the  actresses  of  my  time  have  owed  their 
fame  are  in  the  possession  of  other  performers  .  .  .  and  of  those 
others  in  which  I  have  been  most  favourably  received  by  the 
public,  the  plays  are  so  altered  by  the  death  of  actors,  the  giving 
up  their  parts,  or  other  accidents,  that  they  are  no  longer  of  use 
in  the  catalogue.' 

Garrick's  answer  to  this  has  not  been  preserved ;  but  to  a 
request  which  she  made  in  the  following  November  to  have 
the  part  allotted  to  Mrs.  Barry  in  a  new  comedy  by  Murphy, 
the  irritated  manager  replied  in  the  following  terms : — 

'Madam, — I  am  always  happy  to  see   all  the  performers  of 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  219 

merit  who  belong  to  us,  happy  and  satisfied ;  but  if  I  were  to 
make  myself  uneasy  when  they  are  pleased,  right  or  wrong,  to  be 
discontented,  I  cannot  pay  them  the  compliment  to  mortify  myself 
for  nothing.  After  I  have  said  this,  let  me  be  permitted  to  say 
further,  that  I  never  yet  saw  Mr  a  Ahington  theatrically  happy  for 
a  week  together ;  there  is  such  a  continual  working  of  a  fancied 
interest,  such  a  refinement  of  importance,  and  such  imaginary 
good  and  evil,  continually  arising  in  the  politician's  mind,  that 
the  only  best  substantial  security  for  public  applause  is  neglected 
for  these  shadows.  That  I  may  hear  no  more  of  this  or  that  part  in 
Mr.  Murphy's  play,  I  now  again  tell  you  that  every  author,  since 
my  management,  distributed  his  parts  as  he  thinks  will  be  of  most 
service  to  his  interest,  nor  have  I  ever  interfered,  or  will  interfere, 
unless  I  perceive  that  they  would  propose  something  contrary  to 
common-sense.  As  I  cannot  think  this  to  be  the  case  between 
Mrs.  Barry  and  you,  I  must  beg  leave  to  decline  entering  into  the 
matter.  I  sincerely  Avish,  for  all  your  sakes,  that  you  may  have 
a  character  worthy  of  you,  as  well  as  Mrs.  Barry.  ...  I  am  very 
willing  to  do  you  all  the  justice  in  my  power,  and  I  could  wish 
you  would  represent  me  so  to  persons  out  of  the  theatre,  and, 
indeed,  for  your  own  sake,  for  I  always  hear  this  tittle-tattle  again, 
and  have  it  always  in  my  power  to  prove  that  I  am  never  influ- 
enced by  any  little  considerations  to  be  unjust  to  Mrs.  Abington 
or  any  other  performer.' 

It  was  her  benefit  in  March  of  this  year  which  Johnson 
attended,  when  he  surprised  Boswell  by  his  patience  in 
sitting  through  a  play  of  five  acts  and  a  farce  of  two,  al- 
though, in  consequence  of  forming  one  of  a  body  of  forty 
wits  who  accompanied  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  were  seated 
in  the  front  boxes,  he  could  neither  see  nor  hear  at  such  a 
distance  from  the  stage.  He  had  met  Mrs.  Abington  a 
short  time  previously  at  the  house  of  some  ladies  he  was 
visiting,  and  she  had  begged  him  to  attend  this  benefit.  '  I 
told  her  I  could  not  hear,'  said  Johnson,  '  but  she  insisted 
so  much  on  my  coming  that  it  would  have  been  brutal  to 
have  refused  her,'  Boswell  reports  that  a  few  days  after- 
wards he   supped   with   Johnson   and   some   friends  at  a 


220  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

tavern,  when  one  of  the  company  (most  probably  the  indis- 
creet Boswell  himself)  was  rather  too  forward  in  rallying 
the  Doctor  on  the  subject,  and  had  reason  to  repent  of  his 
temerity.  '  Why,  Sir,  did  yon  go  to  Mrs.  Abington's  benefit  ?' 
queried  the  small  wit.  '  Did  you  see  ? ' — Johnson.  '  No,  Sir.' 
— '  Did  you  hear  ? ' — Johnson.  '  No,  Sir.' — '  Why  then.  Sir, 
did  you  go  ? ' — Johnson.  '  Because,  Sir,  she  is  a  favourite  of 
the  publick:  and  when  the  publick  cares  the  thousandth 
part  for  you  that  it  does  for  her,  I  will  go  to  your  benefit 
too.'  Mrs.  Abington  was  now  not  only  the  favourite  of  the 
playgoers,  but  was  also  becoming  a  favourite  in  polite 
society.  One  day  in  1775,  when  dining  at  Thrale's,  Johnson 
mentioned  having  supped  the  evening  before  at  Mrs. 
Abington's  with  a  number  of  fashionable  people,  and  seemed 
much  pleased  with  having  made  one  in  so  elegant  a  circle. 
Baretti  notes  that  Johnson  certainly  ought  to  have  been 
pleased,  because  Mrs.  Abington  '  took  pains  to  distinguish 
him  above  all  her  guests,  who  were  all  people  of  the  first 
distinction.'  Johnson  remarked  on  the  following  day  that 
Sir  C.  Thompson,  and  others  who  were  there,  spoke  like 
people  who  had  seen  good  company,  adding,  '  and  so  did 
Mrs.  Abington  herself,  who  could  not  have  seen  good 
company.' 

Her  disputes  with  Garrick  continued  to  the  day  of  her 
retirement  in  1776.  One  day  she  writes  to  say  the  servant 
has  brought  her  word  that  Mr.  Garrick  is  very  angry  at  her 
not  attending  rehearsal  that  morning ;  a  message  which  she 
takes  the  liberty  of  disbelieving,  for  she  feels  sure  that  Mr. 
Garrick  could  not  expect  her  to  go  out  that  morning  after 
the  labour  she  has  so  willingly  gone  through  for  three  nights 
past.  Moreover,  she  is  '  ill  to  death,  and  really  not  able  to 
stand,'  A  little  later,  on  a  Sunday  morning,  she  writes  to 
inform  Mr.  Garrick  that  she  is  very  ill,  and  has  been  so  for 
some  days ;  but  the  real  reason  for  her  letter  seems  to  be 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  221 

an  indisposition  to  act  unless  the  play  of  itself  happens  to 
be  new  and  attractive  enough  to  bring  a  full  house ;  for — 

'  She  is  greatly  surprised  to  see  The  Hypocrite  advertised  for 
Wednesday,  and  begs  it  may  not  be  continued  with  her  name  in 
it,  as  she  certainly  cannot  play  in  it  on  Wednesday.  Even  if  she 
were  well  enough  to  perform  so  long  a  part,  Mr.  Garrick  knows 
the  play  will  not  bring  half  a  house,  and  she  does  not  see  why  she 
should  be  obliged  to  play  to  empty  benches.' 

She  is  willing  to  act  in  any  plays  that  are  ready,  she  says ; 
but  if  the  plays  (by  which  she  seems  to  mean  new  comedies) 
are  not  ready,  she  begs  that  Mr.  Garrick  will  not  make  The 
Morning  Post  the  vehicle  for  his  resentment ;  and  she 
repeats  her  frequent  request  that  he  will  give  up  her  agree- 
ment. On  the  first  of  March  this  year,  the  managers  felt 
themselves  obliged  to  take  counsel's  opinion  on  the  dispute 
that  arose  about  her  benefit.  Benefits,  it  appears,  were 
generally  fixed  according  to  the  rank  of  the  performers,  that 
rank  being  determined  by  their  rate  of  salary.  At  this  time 
Mrs.  Abington  stood  in  the  fourth  rank,  and  next  below  her 
came  Miss  Yonge.  Mrs.  Abington  had  the  choice  of  Satur- 
day the  16th  of  March  or  Monday  the  18th.  She  had 
objections  to  both  days.  Saturday  was  Opera-night,  and 
Monday  would  degrade  her  by  giving  precedence  to  Miss 
Yonge.  After  some  delay,  she  settled  on  the  Saturday; 
and  the  following  Monday  was  accordingly  given  to  Miss 
Yonge.  Next  day,  however,  she  wanted  the  Monday,  and 
when  she  was  informed  that  this  was  not  now  available, 
having  been  apportioned  to  the  other  performer,  she  de- 
clined to  advertise  herself  for  the  Saturday,  and  gave  out 
that  the  managers  had  refused  her  any  night  for  her 
benefit.  Counsel's  opinion  was  that  the  managers  should 
make  a  certain  definite  offer  to  Mrs.  Abington,  her  refusal  of 
which  would  place  her  unequivocally  in  the  wrong  box, 
and  enable  them,  in  case  she  declined  to  avail  herself  of  it, 


222  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

to  give  any  other  performance  on  the  night  offered  to  her. 
Her  final  letter  on  this  matter,  dated  March  4,  was  to  the 
following  effect : — 

'  Sir, — As  it  has  been  for  some  time  my  fixed  determination  to 
quit  the  stage  at  the  conclusion  of  the  present  season  and  not 
return  to  it  again,  I  thankfully  accept  your  very  obliging  inten- 
tion to  play  for  my  benefit  in  May ;  you  will  therefore  please  to 
dispose  of  Saturday  the  16th  inst.  in  any  manner  most  agreeable 
to  yourself.' 

A  transcript  of  this  was  endorsed  by  Garrick — '  A  copy  of 
Mother  Abington's  letter  about  leaving  the  stage,'  and  he 
added :  '  The  above  is  a  true  copy  of  the  letter,  examined 
word  by  word,  of  that  worst  of  bad  women,  Mrs.  Abington, 
to  ask  my  playing  for  her  benefit,  and  why  ? '  He  also  wrote 
to  her,  a  few  days  afterwards,  cautioning  her  not  to  be  rash, 
and  pointing  out  that  there  were  man}^  reasons,  altogether 
too  strong  to  be  withstood,  for  his  quitting  the  stage,  but  in 
her  case  there  were  none  that  could  not  be  easily  overcome. 
A  report  of  her  impending  retirement  got  abroad ;  and  a  few 
weeks  after  her  benefit  one  of  the  papers  announced  that 
she  had  taken  a  hotel  in  Paris,  and  fitted  it  up  in  a  luxurious 
style,  for  the  reception  of  the  travelling  English  nobility. 
Then  it  was  announced,  on  equally  good  authority,  that  the 
French  project  had  been  abandoned,  and  that  she  had 
determined  to  spend  the  remainder  of  her  life  in  Wales. 
But  on  the  opening  of  the  theatres  for  the  season  of  1776-7 
nobody  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  appeared  as  usual  at 
Drury  Lane.  The  newspapers  abounded  in  paragraphs 
about  her  of  one  kind  or  another,  especially  of  the  kind 
most  acceptable  to  the  feminine  half  of  the  public,  who  were 
doubtless  greatly  interested  to  learn  that — 

'  Mrs.  Aldington  is  the  harbinger  of  the  reigning  fashion  for  the 
season — a  very  beautiful  style  of  petticoat,  of  Persian  origin,  is 
among  the  last  importations  of  this  admired  actress.' 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  223 

Or— 

'  Mrs.  Abington,  having  long  been  considered  in  the  heau  monde 
as  a  leading  example  in  dress,  her  gown  on  Saturday  night  was  of 
white  lutestring  made  close  to  her  shape,  sleeves  to  the  wrist,  and 
a  long  train ;  her  hair  was  dressed  very  far  back  on  the  sides, 
with  curls  below  and  not  high  above,  nor  did  she  wear  one  of 
those  tremendous  hair-frizzed  peaks  which  of  late  have  disguised 
the  ladies — so  probably  they  will  no  more  appear  as  unicorns  M'ith 
a  horn  issuing  from  their  foreheads.' 

Charles  Dibdin,  writing  in  the  later  days  of  the  following 
reign,  when  English  men  and  women  attired  themselves 
more  ridiculously  than  ever  before  or  since,  looked  back 
with  regret  to  the  days  when  Mrs.  Abington  set  the  fashions. 
He  tells  us  that — 

'  She  was  consulted  by  ladies  of  the  first  distinction,  not  from 
caprice,  as  we  have  frequently  seen  in  other  instances,  but  from  a 
decided  conviction  of  her  judgment  in  blending  what  was  beauti- 
ful with  what  was  becoming.  Indeed,  dress  took  a  sort  of  ton 
from  her  fancy,  and  ladies,  both  on  the  stage  and  off,  piqued 
themselves  on  decorating  their  persons  with  decency  and  decorum.' 

He  also  alleges,  what  will  not  perhaps  be  so  readily 
credited,  namely,  that  she  had  a  corresponding  influence  on 
society  manners  likewise,  and  that  to  the  natural,  winning, 
and  sprightly  manners  of  her  predecessors  in  the  representa- 
tion of  the  higher  parts  in  comedy,  she  added  a  degree  of 
grace,  fashion,  and  accomplishment  which  was  no  sooner 
seen  than  it  was  imitated  in  the  politest  circles. 

In  1779,  on  the  production  of  Sheridan's  School  for 
Scandal,  Mrs.  Abington  was  the  original  Lady  Teazle ;  and 
notwithstanding  that  she  was  almost  the  age  of  the  per- 
former who  played  Sir  Peter,  it  was  one  of  her  greatest 
successes.  When  Horace  Walpole  saw  the  play  he  was 
astonished  to  find  more  parts  performed  admirably  in  it 
than  in  almost  any  play  he  ever  saw ;  and  Mrs.  Abington, 
he  says,  was  '  equal  to  the  first  of  her  profession.'     Her  Lady 


224  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Teazle  was  one  of  the  few  parts  he  had  seen  which  affected 
him  so  powerfully  that  the  performer  seemed  the  real 
person.  But  he  was  not  one  of  those  who  thought  her 
supremely  excellent  in  the  higher  character  of  genteel 
comedy,  holding  that  she  could  never  go  beyond  Lady 
Teazle,  and  was  limited  to  that  rank  of  women,  who  are 
always  aping  women  of  fashion  without  arriving  at  the 
style.  In  1779  he  at  length  made  her  personal  acquaint- 
ance ;  for  in  May  of  that  year  we  find  him  concluding  a 
letter  to  Conway  with  the  information — '  I  am  going  to  sup 
with  Mrs.  Abington,  and  hope  Mrs.  Clive  will  not  hear  of  it.' 
Mrs.  Clive  had  retired  from  the  stage  ten  years  previously, 
but  it  appears  from  this  that  her  jealousy  of  the  rival  star 
might  still  be  productive  of  a  lively  ebullition  of  temper. 
In  the  summer  of  1780  she  seems  to  have  been  desirous  of 
taking  some  of  her  friends  over  Walpole's  to3^-Gothic  castle 
at  Strawberry  Hill,  for  he  writes  to  her : — 

'  You  may  certainly  always  command  me  and  my  house.  My 
common  custom  is  to  give  a  ticket  for  only  four  persons  at  a  time; 
but  it  would  be  very  insolent  in  me,  when  all  laws  are  set  at 
nought,  to  pretend  to  prescribe  rules.  At  such  times  there  is  a 
shadow  of  authority  in  setting  the  laws  aside  by  the  legislature 
itself ;  and  though  I  have  no  army  to  supply  their  place,  I  declare 
Mrs.  Abington  may  march  through  all  my  dominions  at  the  head 
of  as  large  a  troupe  as  she  pleases — I  do  not  say,  as  she  can 
muster  and  command ;  for  then  I  am  sure  my  house  would  not 
hold  them.' 

She  was  now  at  the  acme  of  her  fame;  but  increasing 
consequence  evidently  made  her  increasingly  difficult  to 
deal  with ;  and  early  in  1782  she  withdrew  from  Drury  Lane 
because  she  could  not  obtain  an  increase  of  emoluments 
amounting  to  about  £1000  during  the  season.  Negotiations 
went  on  for  some  time  with  Covent  Garden ;  but,  admirable 
as  she  was,  says  Boaden,  '  neither  manager  considered  her 
attraction  at  this  time  at  all  equivalent  to  the  engagement 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  225 

she  demanded.'  However,  a  bargain  was  at  length  struck, 
and  on  the  29  th  of  November,  when  she  was  about  forty-five 
years  of  age,  she  made  her  first  appearance  at  Co  vent 
Garden.  Between  the  first  and  second  acts  of  the  play  {The 
Discovery)  she  came  on  and  spoke  an  address,  probably  of 
her  own  composition,  in  which  she  said : — 

'  Oft  have  I  come,  ambassadress  in  state, 
From  some  poor  author  trembling  from  his  fate — 
Oft  has  a  generous  public  heard  my  prayer, 
And  shook  with  vast  apjilause  the  troubled  air — 
Then  why  should  I — a  creature  of  your  own — 
Born  of  your  smiles,  and  murder'd  by  your  frown, 
On  this  occasion  fear  your  hearts  can  harden, 
Tho'  a  noviciate  now  at  Covent  Garden. 

Or  here,  or  there,  my  business  still 's  the  same. 
Folly  and  affectation  are  my  game. 
Whether  the  Hoyden,  rough  from  Congreve's  lays, 
Unknowing  in  French  manners  or  French  phrase, 
Who,  conscious  of  no  crime  in  speaking  plain, 
Will  bawl  out  Smock  for  Chemise  de  la  Beine. 
Or  modish  Prude,  who  visions  through  her  fan, 
Who  censures,  shuns,  yet  loves  that  monster — man. 
Or  yet  the  brisk  Coquette,  whose  spreading  sail 
Courts  every  wind  that  can  bring  in  a  male. 
In  short,  good  folks,  tho'  I  have  changed  my  school. 
Alike  you  '11  find  me  here  to  play  the  fool.' 

Boaden  says  that  her  appearance  at  Covent  Garden  pro- 
duced a  great  sensation  ;  and  as  she  was  the  peculiar  delight 
of  the  fashionable  world,  who  had  not  only  admired  her  '  bril- 
liant loquacity '  on  the  stage,  but  had  also  long  permitted  her 
almost  to  legislate  for  them  in  matters  of  dress,  he  records 
for  the  benefit  of  his  female  readers  that  when  she  hurried 
on  to  the  stage  to  deliver  the  foregoing  address  she  was 
attired  in  what  their  mothers  deemed  a  simple  and  charac- 
teristic costume,  namely,  a  train  and  petticoat  of  white  and 
silver  stuff,  a  bodice  and  sash  of  dark  Carmelite  satin,  and 
short  white  sleeves.     She  remained  at  Covent  Garden  for 

p 


226  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

the  following  seven  or  eight  years ;  leaving  Drury  Lane  to 
rely  mainly  on  the  unparalleled  attraction  of  the  tragic 
Siddons,  and  to  bring  forAvard  Miss  Farren  as  her  own  rival 
in  all  the  first-rate  comedy  parts.  Boaden,  who,  whatever 
may  be  his  demerits  as  a  biographer,  is  usually  excellent 
and  discriminating  in  his  characterisation  of  the  various 
performers  of  his  time,  tells  us  that  Mrs.  Abington  possessed 
'  very  peculiar  and  hitherto  unapproached  talent ' ;  and 
that,  in  his  opinion,  Miss  Farren  never  approached  her  in 
comedy  any  nearer  than  Mrs,  Esten  approached  Mrs. 
Siddons  in  tragedy. 

'  She,  I  think,  took  more  entire  possession  of  the  stage  than  any 
actress  I  have  seen ;  there  was,  however,  no  assumption  in  her 
dignity;  she  was  a  lawful  and  graceful  sovereign,  who  exerted 
her  full  power  and  enjoyed  her  established  prerogatives.  The 
ladies  of  her  day  wore  the  hoop  and  its  concomitant  train.  The 
spectator's  exercise  of  the  fan  was  really  no  play  of  fanci/.  Shall  I 
say  that  I  have  never  seen  it  in  a  hand  so  dexterous  as  that  of 
Mrs.  Abington  1  She  was  a  woman  of  great  application ;  to  speak 
as  she  did  required  more  thought  than  usually  attends  female  study. 
Far  the  greater  part  of  the  sex  rely  upon  an  intuition  which 
seldom  misleads  them;  such  discernment  as  it  gives  becomes 
habitual,  and  is  commonly  sufficient,  or  sufficient  for  common 
purposes.  But  commonplace  was  not  the  station  of  Abington. 
She  was  always  beyond  the  surface ;  untwisted  all  the  chains 
which  bind  ideas  together,  and  seized  upon  the  exact  cadence  and 
emphasis  by  which  the  point  of  the  dialogue  is  enforced.  Her 
voice  was  of  a  high  pitch,  and  not  very  powerful.  Her  manage- 
ment of  it  alone  made  it  an  organ  ;  yet  this  was  so  perfect  that 
we  sometimes  converted  the  mere  effect  into  a  cause,  and  supposed 
it  was  the  sharpness  of  the  tone  that  had  conveyed  the  sting. 
Yet,  her  figure  considered,  her  voice  rather  sounded  inadequate ; 
its  articulation,  however,  gave  both  strength  and  smartness  to  it, 
though  it  could  not  give  sweetness.  You  heard  her  Avell  and 
without  difficulty ;  and  it  is  the  first  duty  of  a  public  speaker  to 
be  intelligible.  Her  deportment  is  not  so  easily  described ;  more 
womanly  than  Farren — fuller,  yet  not  heavy,  like  Yonge,  and  far 
beyond  even  the  conception  of  modern  fine  ladies.' 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  227 

How  the  Covent  Garden  managers  got  on  with  her  for 
seven  or  eight  years  is  not  on  record.  But  in  1790  she 
quietly  retired  from  the  theatre,  without  the  benefit  and 
formal  leave-taking  which  was  then  the  usual  custom.  The 
author  of  The  Secret  History  of  the  Green  Roo7yi  asserts  that 
during  the  later  years  of  her  acting  not  only  the  com- 
plexion but  the  form  which  she  indulged  the  town  with  a 
sight  of  was  an  artificial  concoction,  and  that  she  stipulated 
with  the  company  that  while  playing  she  was  not  to  be 
touched.  He  says  that  Henderson  once,  when  playing 
Benedick  to  her  Beatrice,  disregarded  this  warning,  and 
happening  to  press  warmly  upon  her,  heard  a  loud  crack. 
'  For  Heaven's  sake,  madam,  what 's  the  matter  ? '  asked  the 
apparently  astonished  actor.  'Oh,  you  rude  man,'  replied 
she,  '  look  what  you  have  done ! '  '  Never  mind,  madam,  it 
is  only  a  flaw  in  the  porcelain,'  was  the  rejoinder;  'we  will 
slip  into  a  china  shop  and  have  it  repaired.'  John  Bernard's 
account  of  her  appearance  only  a  few  days  before  she  quitted 
the  stage,  however,  conveys  a  very  different  impression. 
There  had  been  a  gallant  controversy  about  her  at  the 
Beef-Steak  Club.  One  of  the  members,  while  admitting  her 
to  possess  still  all  the  merit  an  actress  could,  found  a  great 
defect  in  her  having  false  teeth,  though  he  was  ready  to 
admit  that  everything  else  was  entirely  her  own.  Some  of 
her  admirers  present  contended  for  the  genuineness  even  of 
her  '  ivories ' ;  a  wager  was  laid,  and  the  decision  was  re- 
ferred to  Bernard.  He  admits  that  he  was  sceptical,  and 
thought  that  as  she  was  on  the  borders  of  sixty,  'it  was 
not  so  much  to  be  complained  of  if,  in  this  respect  as  well 
as  in  others,  she  agreeably  deceived  the  public'  But  he 
had  some  trouble  at  arriving  at  any  assurance  on  the 
point. 

'  For  the  first  and  second  evening,  though  I  repeatedly  engaged 
her    in    conversation,   my   experiments  failed.      With   her   A^ery 


228  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

brilliant  eyes,  it  was  impossible  that  I  could  keep  mine 
always  fixed  on  her  mouth ;  yet  when  I  sat  by  her,  and  others 
attracted  her  attention,  my  minutest  observation  left  me  in  a  state 
of  conscientious  indecision.  The  third  evening  I  played  "  Dupely  " 
to  her  "  Lady  Bab  "  in  General  Burgoyne's  comedy  of  The  Maid  of 
the  Oaks.  Having  neglected  the  rehearsal,  she  requested  me  to  run 
over  the  words  with  her  in  the  green-room.  Leading  her  to  a 
sofa  for  the  purpose,  I  made  use  of  some  premeditated  witticism, 
either  on  the  play  or  the  part,  which  induced  Mrs.  Abington  to 
laugh  heartily,  and  then — (as  Sterne  says) — and  then,  looking  her 
full  in  the  face  or  rather  in  the  mouth,  I  was  positively  assured 
that  her  teeth  were  her  own.' 

Another  observer  (who  may  perhaps  be  pardoned  the 
slight  inaccuracy  in  his  figures  for  the  sake  of  his  epigram) 
said  that '  she  had  been  on  the  stage  thirty  years  ;  she  was 
one- and- twenty  when  she  came,  and  one-and-twenty  when 
she  went.'  In  June  1797  she  offered  to  speak  an  epilogue 
on  the  occasion  of  a  free  night  which  was  given  at  Covent 
Garden  for  the  rehef  of  the  widows  and  orphans  of  those  who 
had  fallen  in  the  victory  over  the  Spanish  fleet  at  St.  Vincent, 
and  as  this  brought  her  again  in  touch  with  the  managers, 
she  was  persuaded  to  return  to  the  stage  for  a  short  period. 
But  she  soon  had  enough  of  it,  and  her  last  public  appear- 
ance was  made  on  the  12th  of  April  1799.  When  she  was 
asked,  in  1801,  to  play  for  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  who 
was  thought  to  have  been  of  some  service  to  her  in  the 
press,  she  politely  but  emphatically  declined,  saying : — 

'  I  assure  you  that  if  it  were  given  me  to  choose  whether  I 
would  go  upon  the  stage  or  beg  charity  from  my  friends  for  my 
daily  bread,  I  would  embrace  the  latter  condition,  and  think  myself 
a  gainer  in  credit  by  the  preference.' 

After  her  retirement,  says  John  Taylor,  she  lived  in  Pall 
Mall,  and  must  therefore  have  been  '  in  easy  circumstances.' 
He  says  it  was  well  known  that  she  had  an  income  from  a 
deceased  nobleman,  once  eminent  in  the  political  world 


FRANCES  ABINGTON  229 

Avhich  terminated  at  his  death,  nnd  was  annulled  by  his 
immediate  successor;  but  when  the  latter  died  shortly 
afterwards,  the  new  peer  generously  restored  the  annuity 
'from  a  regard  to  the  memory  of  his  father.'  She  had 
many  friends,  and  was  much  sought  after  in  society;  but 
with  certain  old  ladies  of  fashion  '  she  was  tempted  to 
play  high  at  cards,  and  as  they  were  as  skilful  in  acting  the 
parts  of  gamesters  as  she  was  in  any  of  the  characters 
which  she  represented  on  the  stage,  she  is  said  to  have 
suffered  severely  by  their  superior  dexterity.'  Crabb 
Robinson  met  her  in  June  1811,  and  finding  her  then  to 
be  no  beauty,  concluded  that  she  never  had  been  a  beauty, 
and  duly  made  an  entry  accordingly  in  his  entertaining 
diary : — 

'  Dined  at  Serjeant  Rongli's,  and  met  the  once  celebrated  Mrs. 
Abington.  She  bears  the  marks  of  having  been  always  plain. 
She  herself  laughed  at  her  snub  nose.  But  she  is  erect^  has  a 
large  blue  expressive  eye,  and  an  agreeable  voice.  She  spoke  of 
her  retirement  from  the  stage  as  occasioned  by  the  vexations  of  a 
theatrical  life.  She  said  she  should  have  gone  mad  if  she  had  not 
quitted  her  profession.  She  has  lost  all  her  professional  feelings, 
and  when  she  goes  to  the  theatre  can  laugh  and  cry  like  a  child ; 
but  the  trouble  is  too  great,  and  she  does  not  often  go.' 

Crabb  Robinson  would  not  have  supposed,  either  from 
her  manner  or  the  substance  of  her  conversation,  that  she 
had  been  on  the  stage,  and  found  her  to  speak  with  the 
ease  of  a  person  used  to  good  society,  rather  than  with 
the  assurance  of  one  whose  business  it  had  been  to  imitate 
that  ease.  John  Taylor  met  her,  near  about  the  same  date, 
at  Mrs.  Conway's  in  Stratford  Place,  where  she  was  treated 
with  much  respect  by  the  company.  And  one  evening 
shortly  afterwards  he  dined  with  her  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Jordan  in  Cadogan  Place,  when,  he  says,  she  displayed  great 
spirit,   and  enlivened  the  company  with  many  interesting 


230  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

anecdotes  of  theatrical  history  as  well  as  of  fashionable  life. 
But  her  chief  talk  was  of  Garrick,  of  whom  she  seemed 
never  to  tire;  and  she  wound  up  a  glowing  eulogy  by 
observing  that  '  if  she  might  presume  to  give  an  opinion, 
she  would  say  Shakespeare  was  made  for  Garrick  and 
Garrick  for  Shakespeare.'  The  latest  glimpse  that  we  get 
of  her  is  also  from  the  pen  of  John  Taylor.  He  had 
called  at  the  house  of  his  old  friend  Nealson  (stockbroker 
to  Coutts  and  other  bankers)  who  was  also  an  old  friend 
of  Mrs.  Abington's.  Nealson  was  alarmingly  ill,  too  ill  to 
receive  visitors ;  and  as  Taylor  was  departing  after  having 
made  his  inquiries,  he  met  Mrs.  Abington  in  the  passage, 
coming  in  for  the  same  purpose.  Two  peculiarities  puzzled 
him  much.  In  the  first  place,  he  says,  nobody  who  had 
only  seen  her  in  her  better  days  would  have  recognised 
the  former  'glass  of  fashion'  in  the  old  woman  with  a 
common  red  cloak,  and  not  only  the  attire  but  the  de- 
meanour of  the  wife  of  an  inferior  tradesman.  In  the 
second  place — 

'  She  seemed  to  be  under  the  influence  of  extraordinary  prudery, 
her  i^eign  of  gallantry  having  long  passed  by,  and  declined  telling 
her  name  to  the  servant,  but  desired  the  master  might  be  merely 
told  that  "  the  gentlewoman "  had  called  to  inquire  after  his 
health.  As  I  knew  the  high  regard  that  Nealson  had  for  her,  I 
pressed  her  to  leave  her  name,  as  I  was  sure  that  such  an  attention 
on  her  part  would  soothe  his  sufferings  and  perhaps  promote  his 
recovery.  She  was  inflexible,  and  watched  me  lest  I  should 
disclose  her  name.' 

Taylor,  however,  did  manage  to  find  an  excuse  to  slip 
back  and  whisper  that  the  lady  was  Mrs.  Abington,  when 
the  servant  quietly  replied — '  I  knoAV  it,  sir.'  He  then 
parted  with  Mrs.  Abington  at  the  door,  and  never  saw  her 
again.  She  died  on  the  4th  of  March  1815,  and  it  is  noted 
as  a  rather  singular  circumstance  that  none  of  the  theatrical 
fraternity  attended  her  funeral. 


il^?^^^4€^zy  s^^Mza!a^^^^ 


FROM  THt   EN6RAVIN6    BY    WELSH    Or  THE    PORTRAIT     BY    SIB     JOSHUA     REYNOLDS 


SOPHIA    BADDELEY 

Mrs.  Baddeley,  though  not  comparable  in  ability  with 
several  of  her  contemporaries,  was  not  without  talent  as  an 
actress ;  and  when  she  first  appeared  in  the  part  of  Ophelia, 
Garrick  (whose  judgment  in  his  own  art,  as  Boaden  observes, 
cannot  be  questioned)  pronounced  her  delightful.  But  it 
was  to  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  her  face  that  she  owed 
her  celebrity — and  her  ruin.  Some  notion  of  the  fascination 
she  exercised  may  be  obtained  from  a  story  which  Bernard, 
the  Secretary  of  the  Beef-Steak  Club,  tells  in  his  Retrospec- 
tions. Dr.  Herschel  (before  he  became  Sir  William,  and 
a  great  astronomer)  Avas  organist  of  the  Octagon  at  Bath ; 
and  he  happened  to  be  playing  a  violin  in  the  theatre 
orchestra  there  when  Mrs.  Baddeley  came  down  to  give  a 
few  nights'  performances.  He  had  never  seen  her ;  and  when 
she  first  walked  on  to  the  stage  as  '  Polly,'  he  was  so  over- 
powered by  the  sudden  vision  of  such  beauty  that  he  dropped 
his  fiddlestick  and  stared  at  her  in  amazement !  The  popular 
appreciation  of  that  beauty  may  be  gathered  from  another 
story.  When  Foote  produced  his  comedy  of  The  Maid  of 
Bath  at  the  Hay  market  in  1771,  he  induced  Mrs.  Baddeley 
to  occupy  a  prominent  position  in  one  of  the  stage  boxes. 
In  the  course  of  the  play,  when,  in  the  character  of  '  Flint,' 
he  had  to  descant  on  the  charms  of  the  heroine  of  the  piece, 
he  advanced  to  the  foot-lights  and  exclaimed— '  Not  even 
the  beauty  of  the  nine  Muses,  not  even  the  divine  Baddeley 
herself,  who '  (pointing  to  the  box)  '  is  sitting  there,  could 
exceed  that  of  the  Maid  of  Bath ! '     A  round  of  applause 


232  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

greeted  this  peculiar  personal  effusion ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Baddeley,  blushing  and  showing  evident  signs  of  confusion, 
rose  from  her  seat  and  curtsied  to  the  gazing  crowd,  the 
plaudits  from  every  part  of  the  house,  we  are  told,  lasted  for 
nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Unhappily,  Mrs.  Baddeley  was 
scarcely  more  distinguished  for  the  beauty  of  her  face  than 
she  was  for  the  imprudence,  to  use  no  harsher  word,  of  her 
private  conduct ;  and  the  biography  of  her  which  appeared 
in  1787  is  by  no  means  pleasant  reading. 

The  success  of  Mrs.  Bellamy's  Apology  in  1785  doubtless 
accounts  for  the  appearance,  two  years  later,  in  six  duodecimo 
volumes,  of  the  Memoirs  of  Mrs.  Sophia  Baddeley,  late  of 
Drury  Lane  Theatre.  The  book  purports  to  have  been 
written  by  the  late  actress's  confidential  friend,  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Steele ;  and  on  the  very  first  page  w^e  are  informed,  by  way 
of  guarantee  of  the  authenticity  of  the  Memoirs,  that  the 
author  and  the  subject  of  the  biography  were  acquainted  from 
their  earliest  years ;  that  they  were  brought  up  as  children 
together,  and  sent  to  the  same  school ;  and  that  afterwards 
Mrs.  Baddeley  lived  in  Mrs.  Steele's  house  for  many  years, 
and  so  unbosomed  herself  that  the  biographer  became  ac- 
quainted with  every  material  circumstance  of  her  life.  Some 
critics,  judging  from  internal  evidence  alone,  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Steele  is  as  mythical  a 
personage  as  the  Mrs.  Harris  so  perpetually  quoted  by  Sairey 
Gamp.  And  they  have  found  a  more  probable  author  for 
the  work  in  the  person  of  that  industrious  scribe  Alexander 
Bicknell,  who  is  said  to  have  assisted  Mrs.  Bellamy  in  the 
composition  of  her  volumes.  If  this  be  so  (and  it  is  prob- 
able enough)  the  reader  who  passes  from  the  one  to  the  other 
will  be  able  to  estimate  how  much  assistance  Mrs.  Bellamy 
must  have  given  instead  of  received  ;  for  Bicknell,  with  a 
vivacious  actress  at  his  elbow,  though  even  then  somewhat 
long-drawn-out,  is  at  least  tolerable  ;  but  Bicknell,  left  to  his 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  233 

own  unaided  exertions,  is  as  dull  as  ditch-water.  In  the 
highly  improbable  account  which  the  (supposed)  author  of 
the  book  incidentally  gives  of  herself,  we  are  asked  to  beheve 
that,  after  a  separation  of  some  years'  duration,  she  renewed 
her  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Baddeley  in  1769,  and  finding  the 
latter  plunged  in  dire  distress,  not  only  paid  her  debts,  but 
took  a  house  for  her  in  St.  James's  Place,  supplied  her  with 
a  carriage,  and  endeavoured  to  keep  her  in  the  straight  path 
of  virtue.  She  declares  that  she  loved  Mrs.  Baddeley  as  a 
sister;  and  continued  to  live  with  her  after  she  found  that 
erratic  lady  to  be  irreclaimable,  always  hoping  against  hope 
for  some  reformation.  And  we  are  assured  that  although 
she  and  Mr.  Steele  were  on  the  best  of  terms,  she  did  not  live 
with  her  husband,  who  was  apparently  quite  content  to  mind 
their  children  in  some  home  conveniently  out  of  the  way, 
while  she  used  up  a  '  little  fortune '  of  her  own  earning  in 
gadding  about  for  years  with  Mrs.  Baddeley.  This  part  of 
the  story  is  absurd  and  totally  incredible ;  but  the  critics  who 
have  assumed,  as  Betsey  Prig  did  concerning  Mrs.  Harris,  that 
there  never  was  '  no  sech  a  person,'  have  gone  somewhat  too 
far ;  for  we  learn  from  Tate  Wilkinson  that  Mrs.  Baddeley 
did  have  such  a  friend  and  companion,  whom  he  erroneously 
calls  '  a  Mrs.  StelL'  From  certain  hints  of  his,  however,  and 
from  some  remarks  by  James  Boaden  on  the  same  subject, 
we  may  infer  that  this  attached  friend  was  by  no  means  the 
good  angel  to  Mrs.  Baddeley  that  the  reputed  author  of  the 
Memoirs  represents  herself  to  have  been.  Moreover,  instead 
of  being  a  lady  of  independent  means,  as  she  describes  herself, 
she  was  more  probably,  as  Dutton  Cook  pointed  out,  a  sort 
of  confidential  abigail,  or  what  used  to  be  called  '  convenient 
woman,'  to  Mrs.  Baddeley.  The  presumption  is  that  after 
Mrs.  Baddeley's  death,  Alexander  Bicknell  extracted  all  the 
information  he  could  from  Mrs.  Steele  concerning  her  late 
friend  or  mistress's  career,   which  she   intermixed  with   a 


234  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

highly  fabulous  .account  of  her  own  participation  therein, 
and  that  Bicknell  worked  this  material  up  into  the  semblance 
of  a  biography,  of  which  the  authorship  was  attributed  to  her 
merely  in  order  to  give  a  greater  air  of  authenticity  to  its 
scandalous  revelations.  Soon  after  the  book  had  appeared, 
the  newspapers  of  the  14th  September,  1787,  announced  the 
death  of  the  reputed  author,  at  the  Dolphin  Inn,  in  Bishops- 
gate.  It  appears  that  she  had  been  '  lately  advertised  for  a 
forgery  committed  on  a  respectable  house  in  the  City,'  and 
had  taken  refuge,  under  an  assumed  name,  at  the  Dolphin. 
As  soon  as  she  had  engaged  a  lodging  there,  she  asked  for  a 
nurse ;  in  less  than  a  fortnight  she  died, '  in  the  most  extreme 
agonies  and  distress,'  and  she  was  buried  in  Bishopsgate 
Churchyard  as  a  common  pauper.  It  is  evidently  necessary 
to  read  between  the  lines  of  a  biography  which  sprang 
from  so  unreliable  a  source. 

Sophia,  daughter  of  Valentine  Snow,  serjeant-trumpeter  to 
George  ii.,  was  born  at  Westminster  in  1745.  She  is  said  to 
have  received  a  '  very  genteel '  education.  But  she  rebelled 
against  the  strict  musical  training  which  her  father  insisted 
upon,  and  at  the  age  of  eighteen  eloped  with  a  smart  young 
man  named  Baddeley,  to  whom  she  had  been  introduced  by 
a  sympathising  neighbour.  Baddeley  had  been  brought  up 
as  a  cook;  but  after  wielding  the  spit  in  the  kitchen  of 
Samuel  Foote,  he  had  gone  the  grand  tour  as  a  gentleman's 
valet,  and  by  that  means  picked  up  a  superficial  acquaintance 
with  continental  languages  and  manners.  He  was  at  this 
time  playing  low  comedy  parts  (especially  foreign  footmen) 
at  Drury  Lane  Theatre ;  and  as  his  young  wife  had  a  fine 
voice  and  Avas  ver}'^  beautiful,  he  had  little  difficulty  in  pro- 
curing her  an  engagement  there  likewise.  She  made  her 
first  appearance  on  the  stage,  in  the  part  of  Ophelia,  in  April 
1765,  being  described  on  the  play-bills  as  '  a  young  gentle- 
woman.'     Soon   afterwards,  in  consequence  of  the  sudden 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  235 

illness  of  Mrs.  Gibber,  she  had  an  opportunity  of  appearing 
as  Cordelia  in  King  Lear,  when,  owing  to  her  never  having 
previously  seen  the  play  acted,  she  produced  a  singular  and 
unrehearsed  effect.  When  Edgar  came  in  as  Mad  Tom, 
his  figure  and  manner  gave  her  such  an  unexpected  shock, 
that  through  real  terror  she  screamed  and  fell  down  senseless 
on  the  stage.  Even  her  biographer  does  not  claim  that  Mrs. 
Baddeley  ever  became  a  great  actress  ;  but  her  face  was  her 
fortune  ;  and  within  twelve  months  she  had  established  her- 
self as  a  popular  favourite  at  Drury  Lane,  principally  in 
genteel  comedy,  beyond  which  she  was  seldom  ambitious 
enough  to  venture.  She  had  a  voice  of  great  sweetness ;  and 
however  much  she  may  have  disliked  her  father's  lessons  in 
music,  they  now  stood  her  in  good  stead,  for  in  addition  to 
her  salary  at  Drury  Lane,  which  was  presently  raised  to  eight 
guineas  a  week,  she  was  able  to  earn  a  further  twelve  guineas 
a  week  by  singing  at  Ranelagh.  For  three  years,  says  her 
biographer,  with  peculiar  and  perhaps  intentionally  signifi- 
cant phraseology,  she  lived  with  her  husband  '  without  any 
public  impeachment  on  her  character.'  She  then  committed 
herself  by  going  down  with  a  Jew  named  Mendez  to  his  house 
in  the  country  ;  and,  not  daring  to  return  home,  flew  instead 
to  Charles  Holland,  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  with  whom  she 
continued  to  live  until  his  death  no  long  time  after.  After 
Holland's  death,  the  physician  who  had  attended  him.  Dr. 
Hayes  of  Marlborough  Street,  took  lodgings  for  her  close  by 
his  house,  and  she  lived  under  his  protection  for  the  followmg 
eight  or  nine  months.  Then  there  was  trouble  at  the 
theatre,  and  Garrick  insisted  that  she  should  leave  Dr. 
Hayes.  She  agreed  to  do  so,  provided  her  salary  were  paid 
weekly  into  her  own  hands;  but  to  this  her  husband  objected 
on  the  ground  that  he  still  remained  hable  for  her  debts. 
George  Garrick  (David's  brother)  seems  to  have  rather 
warmly  espoused  the  lady's  cause  in  this  dispute,  and  he  and 


236  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Baddeley  came  within  measurable  distance  of  a  duel  in  Hyde 
Park.  Eventually,  however,  articles  of  separation  were 
agreed  upon,  whereby  (according  to  Mrs.  Steele)  Mrs. 
Baddeley  was  to  receive  her  o^vn  salary  on  condition  of  paying 
the  debts,  amounting  to  £800,  which  had  been  incurred 
before  the  separation,  and  of  indemnifying  her  husband 
against  any  which  she  might  contract  afterwards.  This  was 
in  1767.  Notwithstanding  their  separation,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Baddeley  continued  to  perform  at  the  same  theatre  ;  though 
they  never  exchanged  a  word  with  each  other,  except  in  their 
respective  characters  on  the  stage.  To  some  people,  this 
circumstance,  which  was  of  course  well  enough  known  to  all 
theatre-goers,  imparted  an  additional  piquancy  to  certain 
plays  in  which  they  acted  together.  In  The  Clandestine 
Marriage,  for  instance,  Baddeley  (as  the  Swiss  servant 
Canton)  had  to  urge  King  (who  played  Lord  Ogleby)  to 
make  love  to  Mrs.  Baddeley  (who  took  the  part  of  Fanny). 
Before  Fanny  joins  them  on  the  stage,  the  accommodating 
Swiss  has  to  exert  all  his  ingenuity  in  recommending  her  to 
his  lordship's  notice.  When  the  old  beau  admits  that  she  is 
delectable,  '  Oh,  oui,  my  Lor,  very  delect,'  returns  the  valet, 
'  she  make  doux  yeux  at  you,  my  Lor.'  In  a  later  scene,  the 
valet  expresses  huge  delight  at  his  success. 

'  Lord  Ogleby.  Ah,  la  petite  Fanchion  !  She 's  the  thing ;  isn't 
she,  Cant  1 

Canton.  Dere  is  very  good  sympatic  entre  vous  and  dat  young 
lady,  my  Lor. 

Lord  Oglehj.  If  she  goes,  I  '11  positively  go  too. 

Canton.  In  the  same  post-chay,  my  Lor  ?  You  have  no  objec- 
tion ?     Ha,  ha,  ha  ! ' 

It  does  not  seem  excruciatingly  funny ;  but  the  acting  of 
this  scene,  combined  with  the  known  relations  of  the  players, 
so  pleased  good  King  George  iii.  and  his  Queen,  that  they 
sent  a  request  next  day  to  Mrs.  Baddeley  to  go  to  Zoffany 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  237 

and  have  her  portrait  painted  in  the  character.  Of  course, 
she  complied  with  the  request ;  and  of  course  such  a  distin- 
guishing mark  of  royal  approbation  greatly  extended  her 
fame.  She  now  not  only  drew  crowded  houses  in  the  theatre 
but,  as  her  biographer  phrases  it,  '  became  caressed,  adored, 
and  followed  by  the  first  persons  in  the  state ' — which,  being 
interpreted,  means  by  all  the  rakes  and  profligate  young 
men  about  to^vn. 

Even  before  her  separation  from  her  husband,  she  had 
been  frequently  visited  by  H.R.H.  the  Duke  of  York ;  and 
that  sentimental  prince,  before  he  left  the  kingdom,  had 
graciously  presented  her  with  a  lock  of  his  hair — a  precious 
gift,  which,  we  are  told,  she  carefully  preserved  through  all 
the  vicissitudes  of  her  chequered  career,  and  bequeathed  at 
her  death  to  one  who  would  treasure  it  with  equal  reverence. 
Many  and  various  were  the  other  candidates  for  her  favour, 
including  Sir  Cecil  Bishop,  an  old  man  verging  on  eighty 
years  of  age,  who  sent  her  a  valuable  service  of  plate  by  way 
of  inducing  her  to  pay  him  a  visit  at  his  country  seat  in 
Sussex,  and  who  was  bitterly  disappointed  when  his  charmer 
left  him  on  the  first  day  immediately  after  dinner,  and  drove 
on  to  find  younger  and  more  congenial  society  at  Bright- 
helmstone.  It  was  about  this  time  that  the  Hon.  William 
Hanger  'gained  her  affections';  but  this  gentleman  was 
incautious  enough  one  day  to  take  his  brother  on  a  visit 
to  the  volatile  lady,  with  the  result  that  the  Hon.  John 
promptly  cut  the  Hon.  William  out.    Mrs.  Steele  says  that — 

'the  Hon.  Jolin  Hanger,  on  obtaining  Mrs.  Baddeley's  heart, 
made  her  the  most  ample  and  unreserved  promises  of  liberality, 
and  pledged  himself  by  the  most  solemn  vows  to  give  her  all  the 
support  his  fortune  or  affection  could  afford  or  contrive.  He  took 
a  handsome  lodging  in  Dean  Street,  Soho,  hired  her  a  carriage  at 
his  own  expense,  and  his  assiduity  and  tenderness  soon  gained 
him  her  affection.' 


238  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

In  fact,  so  devoted  did  she  become  to  the  Hon.  John  that, 
when  his  funds  ran  short,  as  they  very  soon  did,  she  devoted 
the  whole  of  her  earnings,  amounting  to  £20  a  Aveek,  to  the 
purposes  of  their  joint  housekeeping.  Even  with  this  help, 
however,  they  soon  got  into  debt  to  the  extent  of  £700 ;  and 
when  creditors  pressed,  and  there  was  no  money  left  to  pay 
them  with,  her  lover,  in  spite  of  all  her  entreaties,  declared 
that  be  must  relinquish  her.  When  he  set  to  work  to  pack 
up  his  trunks,  she  fell  senseless  to  the  floor,  and  when  she 
recovered  consciousness,  the  Hon.  John  had  taken  his  de- 
parture. Notwithstanding  that  this  ardent  lover  had  occa- 
sionally beaten  her  until  her  neck  and  arms  were  black,  and 
once  knocked  out  one  of  her  double  teeth,  his  loss  caused 
such  distraction  that  she  made  an  attempt  on  her  life. 
Persuading  a  neighbouring  chemist  to  let  her  have  three 
hundred  drops  of  laudanum  on  the  plea  that  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking  some  every  night  and  wanted  a  supply  to 
take  away  with  her  into  the  country,  she  rushed  back  into 
the  house  in  Dean  Street  and  took  the  whole  of  it  in  one 
dose.  However,  three  physicians  were  not  in  vain ;  and  as 
Mrs.  Steele  appeared  (so  she  says)  at  this  opportune  moment, 
paid  all  the  debts,  took  a  house  in  St.  James's  Place,  and 
provided  Mrs.  Baddeley  with  a  carriage,  that  suicidal  lady 
was  at  length  persuaded  that  life  was  after  all  worth  living. 

In  one  place,  Mrs.  Steele  informs  us  that  though  not 
possessing  the  superlative  beauty  of  Mrs.  Baddeley,  she  had 
not  been  without  her  temptations ;  but,  thank  God  !  she  had 
a  mind  above  them  all,  and  had  always  conducted  herself 
with  that  propriety  every  woman  ought,  which  naturally 
made  her  ever  anxious  to  keep  her  friend  within  the  rules 
of  virtue  and  decorum.  But  she  must  certainly  have 
despised  '  a  fugitive  and  cloistered  virtue,'  that  never  sallies 
out  and  seeks  its  adversary,  almost  as  much  as  Milton  did ; 
for  her  account  of  the  way  in  which  she  and  her  friend 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  239 

conducted  themselves  in  that  St.  James's  Street  house  reads 
like  the  annals  of  a  bagnio.  They  were  no  sooner  settled 
there  than  Lord  Pigot  became  a  constant  visitor,  as  they 
professed  to  imagine,  out  of  '  pure  esteem  and  friendship,' 
so  that  when,  after  a  little,  he  declared  his  love  for  Mrs. 
Baddeley,  she  was  greatly  surprised,  and  told  him  so.  When 
Lord  Sefton  heard  of  the  desertion  of  Mr.  Hanger,  he  also 
came,  and  instantly  proposed  to  pay  her  debts  and  settle 
£400  a  year  on  her.  As  an  earnest  of  his  future  liberality, 
he  offered  her  a  note  for  £350,  which  she  unhesitatingly 
accepted,  though  declining  any  such  permanent  arrange- 
ment as  he  wished  to  make.  Lord  Palmerston,  who  had 
seen  her  at  Ranelagh,  one  day  invited  himself  to  tea,  and 
was  promptly  asked  (being  at  the  time  one  of  the  Lords  of 
the  Admiralty)  to  give  some  promotion  to  a  lieutenant  in 
whom  Mrs.  Baddeley  happened  to  be  interested.  On  another 
occasion,  we  are  told,  Lord  March  called  to  invite  them  to 
dinner.  But  this  amorous  peer,  as  he  was  being  shown  in 
to  the  parlour,  saw  a  maid-servant  who  took  his  fancy  going 
upstairs,  and  went  in  pursuit  of  the  damsel.  The  girl  did 
not  fancy  him,  apparently,  for  she  pushed  him  away,  and 
he  not  only  fell  from  top  to  bottom  of  a  flight  of  stairs,  but 
also  received  the  contents  of  her  bucket  over  his  line  clothes. 
Mrs.  Steele  and  Mrs.  Baddeley  came  rushing  out  to  the 
rescue,  and,  as  became  ladies  of  stringent  virtue  in  a  house 
of  the  most  perfect  decorum,  they  apologised  to  his  lord- 
ship, cleaned  his  clothes,  and  accepted  his  invitation  to 
dinner. 

It  would  be  wearisome  to  enumerate  the  various  peers 
and  other  persons  of  quality  who  invited  themselves  to  tea, 
made  handsome  presents  (usually  in  the  form  of  bank- 
notes), and  in  most  cases  also  made  offers  of  a  settlement ; 
but  special  mention  must  be  made  of  one  peer  who  plays 
a  very  prominent  part  in  these  Memoirs.     Lord  Melbourne, 


240  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

who  was  then  about  twenty-one  j'^ears  of  age,  and  had  been 
recently  married,  introduced  himself  to  Mrs.  Baddeley  by 
a  letter,  in  which, '  as  a  proof  of  his  esteem,'  he  enclosed  a 
bill  for  £300.  She  accepted  the  money,  but  at  the  same 
time  assured  his  lordship  that  her  present  state  of  mind 
put  it  out  of  her  power  to  meet  his  wishes.  The  fact  was 
that  at  the  moment  the  Hon.  John  Hanger  was  rather  in 
the  way.  He  had  called  at  the  house  in  St.  James's  Street, 
and  when  Mrs.  Steele  refused  to  let  him  see  Mrs.  Baddeley, 
had  cried  and  bewailed  his  sorrow  with  so  loud  a  voice,  that 
she  had  come  into  the  room  in  a  relenting  mood,  and  after 
at  first  permitting  his  visits  'as  a  friend  only,'  had  soon 
restored  him  to  his  former  footing,  so  that  he  was  now 
hanging  about  the  place  all  day  and  every  day.  Mrs.  Steele 
soon  saw  that  this  was  not  good  business ;  so  she  took  a 
house  in  the  King's  Road,  Chelsea,  and  declared  (so  she 
assures  us)  that  she  would  go  and  live  there  by  herself 
unless  Hanger's  visits  were  discontinued.  Why  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  take  another  house,  instead  of  simply 
going  home  to  her  husband  and  children,  she  does  not  con- 
descend to  explain.  However,  what  she  says  is  that  a  threat 
to  leave  Mrs.  Baddeley  almost  always  brought  that  lady 
round  to  her  wishes ;  and  in  the  present  instance  a  promise 
was  made  to  relinquish  the  objectionable  Hanger.  One  day, 
on  returning  from  the  Chelsea  house,  which  she  was  pre- 
paring for  occupation,  she  found  Lord  Melbourne  closeted 
with  Mrs.  Baddeley  in  St.  James's  Place;  and  when  her 
friend  came  out  to  greet  her  in  the  hall,  she  remonstrated 
so  loudly  on  the  impropriety  of  such  a  proceeding,  that  Lord 
Melbourne,  to  avoid  a  scene,  threw  up  the  parlour- window 
and  leaped  out  into  the  street,  having  first  placed  bank-notes 
for  £200  on  the  table,  by  way  of  atonement  for  his  intrusion. 
Next  morning  came  a  letter  from  his  lordship,  apologising 
for  his  precipitate  retreat,  and  requesting  an  interview  in 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  241 

Henry  the  Seventh's  Chapel  at  Westminster.  Mrs.  Steele 
advised  that  no  notice  should  be  taken  of  this  letter,  but  find- 
ing that  Mrs.  Baddeley  was  determined  to  keep  the  appomt- 
ment,  said  she  would  go  also.  She  lectured  Lord  Melbourne, 
we  are  told,  on  the  impropriety  of  his  visits  to  Mrs.  Bellamy 
at  her  house;  but  he  assured  her  that  he  had  no  other 
object  than  to  be  of  service  in  helping  Mrs.  Baddeley  to  quit 
a  fatiguing  profession  which,  she  had  told  him,  had  become 
extremely  distasteful  to  her;  and  as  he  there  and  then 
presented  that  lady  with  more  bank-notes,  to  the  value  of 
£300,  Mrs.  Steele  '  was  in  some  measure  prevailed  with,  and 
his  lordship's  visits  were  permitted  at  our  house.'  Of  course 
the  Hon.  John  Hanger  was  now  told  to  discontinue  his 
visits ;  although,  as  he  informed  Mrs.  Baddeley  he  was  now 
a  ruined  man,  in  consequence  of  a  run  of  ill-luck  at  Almack's, 
she  gave  him  a  parting  gift  of  £200 — presumably  from  the 
last  bundle  of  bank-notes  received  from  Lord  Melbourne. 
When  Melbourne  learned,  on  his  next  visit,  that  she  had 
definitely  parted  with  Hanger,  he  was  so  pleased  that  he 
left  yet  another  £200  worth  of  bank-notes  on  the  table 
before  taking  his  departure.  Apart  from  any  other  con- 
sideration, these  presents  of  money  of  course  only  served  to 
encourage  Mrs.  Baddeley 's  extravagance.  They  also  helped 
to  give  her  an  exaggerated  idea  of  her  own  importance ;  so 
that  when  Garrick  refused  an  increase  of  salary  she  asked 
for,  she  told  him  she  would  not  appear  on  his  stage  again 
until  he  gave  her  better  terms.  Lord  Melbourne  applauded 
this  resolution ;  and  said  he  would  give  her  three  times  as 
much  as  she  could  earn  by  her  profession.  And  she  not 
only  broke  with  Garrick,  but  at  the  same  time  gave  up  her 
engagement  at  Kanelagh  also.  After  two  years  she  found 
it  necessary  to  return  both  to  Ranelagh  and  to  the  theatre ; 
but,  in  the  meantime,  having  the  command,  as  she  supposed, 
of  Lord  Melbourno's  purse,  she  launched  out  into  greater 

Q 


242    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

extravagance  than  ever.  Her  biographer  gives  lis  a  speci- 
men of  a  day's  shopping.  First  she  went  to  King's,  in  Covent 
Garden,  where  she  paid  £200  for  a  new  coach-lining  and 
hammer-cloth,  and  sundry  other  silks  at  two  guineas  a  yard. 
Then  she  drove  to  Prince's,  in  Tavistock  Street,  where  she 
made  purchases  of  various  kinds  to  a  large  amount ;  then 
to  Jeafferson's,  at  Charing  Cross,  where  she  bought  a  pair 
of  diamond  earrings  for  £300 ;  and,  after  then  calling  at  the 
milliner's  and  one  or  two  other  shops,  returned  home  £700 
the  poorer  for  one  day's  purchases. 

The  house  in  Grafton  Street,  we  are  told,  was  very  hand- 
somely furnished.  The  walls  of  the  drawing-room  were  hung 
with  silk  curtains,  drawn  up  in  festoons,  in  imitation  of 
Madame  du  Barry's  at  Versailles ;  and  everything  else  was 
proportionally  elegant  and  costly.  At  one  time  she  kept 
nine  servants.  Her  liveries  were  a  superfine  dark  blue  cloth, 
lined  with  scarlet,  scarlet  collars  and  cuffs,  and  two  roAvs  of 
scolloped  silver  lace;  waistcoats  the  same,  and  silver-laced 
hats.  She  always  wore  two  watches,  one  being  a  beautiful 
little  French  toy,  set  with  diamonds,  worth  £200,  which  hung 
as  a  trinket  from  her  chain.  We  hear  incidentally  of  four 
diamond  necklaces,  a  diamond  bow  worth  £400,  enamelled 
bracelets  set  round  with  brilliants,  and  rings,  both  for  ears 
and  fingers,  without  number.  And  she  was  always  wanting 
fresh  things.  She  would  go  to  the  mercer's,  pay  thirty  or 
forty  guineas  for  a  sacque  coat  of  rich  silk  (more  often  than 
not  ordering  two  or  three  more  at  the  same  time),  wear  it 
perhaps  twice,  and  then  give  it  away  to  her  maid.  She  once 
bought  a  whole  piece  of  very  fine  muslin,  plated  with  silver 
leaves,  for  £48 ;  had  it  made  up  into  a  dress  for  a  masquerade, 
wore  it  for  one  night  only;  and  the  next  day  cut  it  up  to 
make  into  dolls'  things  for  some  children.  Nothing  pleased 
her  for  long.  One  day  a  new  set  of  decorations  would  be  put 
up  in  her  house ;  and  the  next  day  it  would  be  all  pulled 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  243 

down  aud  replaced  by  something  different.  And  whatever 
she  saw  and  fancied,  that  she  must  have,  whatever  the  cost 
might  be.  Calling  one  day  at  her  mantua-maker's  she  was 
shown  a  dress  just  made  for  Mrs.  Abington,  and  nothing 
would  satisfy  her  till  she  had  posted  oft"  to  that  lady's  house 
and  persuaded  her  to  part  with  it  for  twenty  guineas.  Then, 
finding  that  Mrs.  Abington  was  thinking  of  removing  from 
her  charming  house  at  Hammersmith,  Mrs.  Baddeley  must 
needs  immediately  buy  all  the  furniture  and  take  over  the 
lease,  notwithstanding  that  she  had  already  two  houses  on 
her  hands.  After  her  temporary  retirement  from  the  theatre, 
her  dissipation  was  more  fast  and  furious  than  ever.  Operas, 
plays,  masquerades,  Vauxhall,  Ranelagh,  and  other  diversions 
occupied  her  whole  time;  and  her  companion  declares 
that — 

'  Often  in  summer  time  have  we  returned  from  a  place  of  amuse- 
ment at  three  in  the  morning,  and,  without  going  to  rest,  have 
changed  our  dress  and  gone  off  in  our  phaeton  ten  or  twelve  miles 
to  breakfast ;  and  have  kept  this  up  for  five  or  six  days  together. 
In  the  morning  to  an  exhibition  or  an  auction ;  this  followed  by 
an  airing  into  Hyde  Park ;  after  that  to  dress,  then  to  the  play ; 
from  thence,  before  the  entertainment  was  over,  away  to  Ranelagh ; 
return  perhaps  at  two  ;  and  after  supper  and  a  little  chat,  the  horses 
ordered,  and  to  Epsom,  or  some  other  place,  again  to  breakfast.' 

Of  course,  no  human  frame  could  stand  this  sort  of  thing 
for  any  length  of  time ;  neither  could  any  one  man's  purse. 
She  not  only  spent  all  the  money  Melbourne  gave  her  as  fast 
as  she  got  it,  and  accumulated  considerable  debts  at  the 
same  time,  but  also  added  to  her  stock  of  jewellery  and 
furniture  from  other  sources.  We  hear  of  her  buying  £56 
worth  of  books  in  a  shop  in  Piccadilly  on  one  occasion,  when 
Lord  Harrington,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  shop  at  the 
time,  asked  to  be  allowed  to  pay  for  them,  and  when  this 
offer  was  politely  declined,  begged  to  be  allowed  to  present 
her  with  a  set  of  books  of  his  own  selection.     On  another 


244  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

occasion,  being  at  a  sale  at  Christie's,  she  expressed  great 
admiration  of  a  picture  of  a  miser,  whereupon  Mr.  Thomas 
Stanley  (brother  of  Lord  Derby)  at  once  bought  it  for  her ; 
and  when,  shortly  after,  she  likewise  fancied  two  fruit  pieces, 
these  also  were  bought  for  her  by  her  old  admirer,  Sir  Cecil 
Bishop,  already  mentioned  as  the  donor  of  a  service  of  silver 
plate.  Although  her  biographer  professes  to  have  a  moral 
object  in  view,  she  (or  he)  never  blames  Mrs.  Baddeley  for 
accepting  presents,  whether  in  goods  or  money,  from  any  of 
her  numerous  admirers,  but  only  for  the  reckless  manner  in 
which  she  disposed  of  her  ill-gotten  gains.  Few  persons  in 
the  world  experienced  its  smiles,  we  are  told,  more  than 
Mrs.  Baddeley  did  at  this  time.  Rank  and  fortune  bowed 
before  her ;  and  it  rested  with  herself  whether  she  would  be 
mistress  of  a  competence  or  not.  A  little  discretion,  not  to 
say  frugality,  in  husbanding  what  she  received  at  this  time 
would  have  afforded  her  a  comfortable  resource  for  a  future 
day ;  and  (so  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Steele  or  Mr.  Alexander  Bick- 
nell  has  the  courage  to  set  it  down  in  black  and  white)  would 
have  made  her  a  happy  woman  in  after  years,  when  all  her 
friends  had  deserted  her !  But  the  reader  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  drawing  for  himself  a  more  satisfactory  moral 
from  the  story. 

Every  place  of  public  resort  frequented  by  people  of 
fashion  appears  to  have  been  open  to  Mrs.  Baddeley,  and 
the  single  attempt  that  was  made  to  exclude  her  ignomini- 
ously  failed  in  consequence  of  the  championship  of  her 
numerous  influential  admirers.  Mrs.  Steele's  account  of  this 
incident  runs  as  follows : — 

'When  the  Pantheon  was  first  opened  with  concerts,  &c.,  the 
proprietors  wished  to  exclude  every  person  but  those  of  rank  and 
fortune  ;  and  by  no  means  to  admit  any  woman  of  slight  character, 
or  any  of  the  players.  Mrs.  Bellamy  being  then  on  the  stage,  and 
of  some  consequence  among  them,   she  was,   Avith  some  others, 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  245 

pointed  out  as  an  improper  person  to  be  admitted.  This  getting 
to  the  ears  of  Mr.  William  Hanger,  Mr.  Conway,  and  some  few 
more  of  their  friends,  they  met  at  Almack's  on  the  occasion,  and 
twenty  of  the  nobility  agreed  to  attend  at  the  Pantheon,  at  the 
door  she  designed  to  enter  at,  determining  that  nothing  should 
prevent  her  admittance.  They  accordingly  requested  of  us  to  go 
the  first  evening  it  was  opened  in  chairs,  for  as  an  extra  number  of 
constables  were  ordered  to  attend,  and  as  chairs  were  admitted 
under  the  portico,  it  would  be  better  in  case  of  a  riot  than  to  expose 
our  carriage  and  horses  to  the  insolence  of  a  mob.  .  .  .  When  we 
reached  the  place,  I  believe  there  were  fifty  gentlemen  in  waiting 
ready  to  protect  us,  with  swords  by  their  sides;  and  when  I 
got  out  I  passed  the  constables  uninterrupted,  but  as  soon  as 
Mrs.  Bellamy  got  out  of  her  chair,  all  the  constables'  staves  were 
crossed,  and,  pulling  off  their  hats,  they  with  great  civility  said 
their  orders  were  to  admit  no  players.  At  this  instant,  every 
gentleman  there  present,  the  greater  part  of  whom  were  noblemen, 
drew  their  swords,  and  declared  one  and  all  that  if  they  did  not 
instantly  make  way  and  let  her  pass  they  would  run  them  through. 
Way  was  immediately  made,  and  Mrs.  Baddeley  and  I  were  handed 
in  without  any  interruption.' 

Nor  was  this  quite  the  end  of  the  matter:  for  the 
champions  of  fair  frailty  would  not  sheathe  their  swords, 
nor  allow  the  performance  to  proceed,  until  the  managers 
of  the  place  had  humbly  begged  Mrs.  Baddeley's  pardon  and 
rescinded  their  regulation ;  whereupon  an  account  of  the 
result  was  immediately  sent  to  Mrs.  Abington,  who  presently 
came,  and  on  her  being  admitted  without  any  question,  the 
noblemen  from  Almack's  were  apparently  satisfied  that  no 
nonsensical  notions  of  morality  would  afterwards  exclude  any- 
body whose  presence  could  in  any  way  add  to  their  pleasure. 

As  we  have  seen,  however,  the  numerous  diversions  of 
London  were  insufficient  to  fill  Mrs.  Baddeley's  cup  of 
pleasure,  and  during  the  two  years  that  she  was  free  from 
the  stage,  she  was  perpetually  rushing  about  the  country, 
always  travelling  with  four  horses  going  as  fast  as  the 
postiHons  could  urge  them,  and  invariably,  when  on  long 


246    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

journeys,  travelling  night  and  day.      About  1772  or  1773 
she   and    Mrs.   Steele   made    a  jaunt   to  Paris,  where  her 
beauty  attracted  as  much  attention  as  in  England.     At  the 
Comedie,  the  French  nobility  crowded  the  passages  of  the 
theatre  to  see  her  pass  out  to  her  carriage,  and  on  the  quay 
at  Calais,  when  she  was  returning,  quite  a  small  army  of 
officers   attended   her   to  the  boat.     In  Paris   she   bought 
caps,  handkerchiefs,  ruffles,  trimmings,  fans,  gloves,  shoes, 
stockings,  and  trinkets  in  great  abundance,  so  as  to  have 
everything  in  the  height  of  fashion  on  her  return  to  Eng- 
land.    Everybody   smuggled   in    those    days   of    all-round 
tariffs ;  and  by  giving  a  fee  of  five  guineas  to  an  official  at 
Calais,  she  got  her  baggage  passed  through  there  without 
being  searched,  together  with  a  note  to  a  similar  official  at 
Dover,  who,  in  return  for  a  further  five  guineas,  passed  her 
trunks   through   the    English   custom-house   without    any 
overhauling.     In  consequence  of  a  little  indiscretion  of  her 
own,  however,  the  attention  of  some  other  (un-fee'd)  custom- 
house officers  was  attracted  before  she  could  get  safely  to 
London,   and  the   whole   of  her   baggage  was   seized   and 
detained,   with   the  result   that,   to  avoid  payment  of  the 
heavy  penalty,  she  was  forced  to  abandon  not  only  her  Paris 
purchases  but  everything  else  as  well.     Another  result   of 
this  trip  to  Paris,  was  that  she  shortly  afterwards  received  a 
visit  in  London  from  M.  le  Due,  the  French  king's  tailor, 
who  said  he  was  commissioned  by  his  Majesty  of  France 
to  pay  her  any  sum  of  money  she  might  immediately  need, 
and  to  promise  a  liberal  provision  for  life,  if  she  would 
return  to  Paris  and  place  herself  under  the  royal  protection. 
This  offer  was  civilly  declined,  on  the  ground  that   Mrs. 
Baddeley  would  not  like  to  leave  her  own  country.     She 
used  to  say  that  she  hated  the  French,  and  would  rather  be 
a  menial   servant   in   England   than   the   mistress   of  the 
French  king.     But  she  was  not  a  little  proud  of  the  offer 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  247 

all  the  same,  and  took  care  that  all  her  acquaintances  should 
hear  of  it. 

If  at  any  time  there  happened  to  be  no  place  of  public 
diversion  sufficiently  attractive  for  her,  Mrs.  Baddeley 
would  fly  off  in  pursuit  of  some  whimsy  of  her  own.  She 
heard  one  day,  for  example,  that  there  was  an  empty  house 
at  Wandsworth  said  to  be  haunted ;  and  the  hope  of  a 
fresh  sensation  from  the  sight  of  a  ghost  made  her  instantly 
determine  to  find  that  house  and  sit  up  in  it  all  night. 
Taking  five  maids  and  three  men-servants,  and  providing 
themselves  with  wood  and  coal,  and  wine  and  provisions, 
she  and  Mrs.  Steele,  after  staining  their  faces  and  hands 
and  dressing  themselves  so  as  to  pass  for  a  party  of  gypsies, 
set  out  by  boat  for  Wandsworth.  But  this  expedition  was 
not  altogether  a  success ;  for  after  wandering  about  the 
neighbourhood  for  hours,  and  inquiring  of  every  person 
they  met,  no  such  thing  as  a  haunted  house  could  they 
anywhere  hear  of,  and  they  were  forced  to  content  them- 
selves with  the  comparatively  mild  diversion  of  telling  the 
fortunes  of  the  country  wenches  and  silly  servant  girls. 
Mrs.  Steele  alleges  that  her  friend  was  fond  of  reading; 
but  if  these  Meriioirs  give  anything  like  a  true  picture  of 
her  life,  she  can  never  have  given  herself  half  an  hour  a 
week  to  sit  down  quietly  over  a  book.  She  was  fond  of 
canaries  and  of  cats ;  but  the  petting  of  these  creatures  was 
no  hindrance  either  to  gadding  about  abroad  or  to  the 
reception  of  innumerable  visitors  at  home.  One  of  her 
cats,  named  '  Cuddle,'  was  always  politely  inquired  after  by 
the  beaux  who  courted  its  mistress's  favour ;  and  this 
pampered  animal  was  often  her  companion  when  journey- 
ing about  from  place  to  place.  Mrs.  Steele  observes,  with 
some  chagrin,  that  on  one  occasion  when  their  coach  was 
overturned,  and  she  was  so  bruised  as  to  need  the  aid  of  a 
surgeon  at  the  nearest  town,  Mrs.  Baddeley 's  sole  concern 


248  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

was  for  the  safety  of  the  four-footed  companion,  and  until 
she  had  satisfied  herself  that  '  Cuddle '  was  safe  and  unin- 
jured, she  would  not  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  the  hurts 
of  any  other  creature. 

All  the  while  that  Mrs.  Baddeley  was  living  in  this  whirl 
of  giddy  gaiety  at  Lord  Melbourne's  expense,  she  was  in 
receipt  of  numerous  offers  from  other  infatuated  admirers, 
from  whom,  as  already  mentioned,  she  did  not  scruple  to 
accept  presents,  of  jewellery,  of  plate,  of 'pictures,  of  money. 
Also,  as  her  biographer  admits,  she  usually  had  some 
favourite  visitor  of  her  own  choice,  '  to  whom  she  might, 
when  she  pleased,  bestow  her  unbought  favours.'  In  par- 
ticular, she  was  for  a  long  time,  and  notwithstanding  his 
ill-usage  of  her,  unable  to  shake  herself  free  of  an  infatua- 
tion for  the  Hon.  John  Hanger.  Lord  Melbourne  was  by 
no  means  a  brilliant  young  nobleman ;  but,  says  the  lady's 
biographer,  'his  Lordship  must  have  loved  her,  for  he 
always  shed  tears  at  parting  with  her ;  ever  called  her  his 
dearest  love,  and  seldom  left  her  without  blessing  her  sweet 
face.'  He  also  seldom  left  her  without  leaving  what  she 
valued  far  above  blessing,  namely  a  good  round  sum  in 
money.  If  Mrs.  Steele,  who  appears  to  have  occasionally 
realised  that  they  might  both  of  them  some  day  be  in  need 
of  an  old-age  pension,  ever  ventured  to  suggest  that  her 
extravagant  expenditure  should  be  slightly  moderated,  Mrs. 
Baddeley  would  invariably  reply  to  the  effect :  '  Lord 
Melbourne  has  no  other  desire  than  to  give  me  everything  I 
wish  for,  and  as  I  shall  have  his  love  and  friendship  as  long 
as  I  live,  I  shall  never  want.'  But  even  Melbourne,  simple 
as  he  was,  came  to  see  at  last  that  she  was  pla3'ing  fast 
and  loose  with  him;  and  Avhen,  just  as  he  was  incurring 
enormous  expense  in  fitting  up  a  new  house  for  himself  and 
his  wife  in  Piccadilly,  Mrs.  Baddeley  requested  him  to  settle 
debts  which  she   had   incurred   to   the   extent  of  several 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  249 

thousands  of  pounds,  his  ardour  cooled ;  and  although  there 
was  no  sudden  rupture,  his  visits  and  his  donations  became 
much  less  frequent.  In  consequence  there  was  soon  acute 
trouble  with  her  creditors ;  and  partly  to  avoid  arrest,  partly 
to  escape  from  her  old  lover  Hanger,  who  had  now  succeeded 
his  father  as  Lord  Coleraine,  she  accepted  an  invitation  to 
visit  Colonel  Luttrell,  another  of  her  admirers,  at  his  place  in 
Ireland.  Coleraine  discovered  her  retreat,  followed  her  to 
Luttrell's  house,  promised  to  behave  better  in  future,  and 
offered,  if  she  would  return  to  him,  to  pay  all  her  debts 
and  settle  £500  a  year  on  her  for  life.  She  was  now  as 
infatuated  with  Luttrell  as  she  had  previously  been  with 
Coleraine ;  but  as  the  former  was  too  poor  to  pay  her  debts, 
she  agreed  to  return  to  London  with  the  latter ;  privately 
promising  Luttrel,  however,  that  as  soon  as  the  other  had 
freed  her  from  her  creditors  she  would  immediately  come 
back  to  Ireland  and  to  him.  Lord  Coleraine,  however, 
according  to  her  story,  beat  her  and  locked  her  up  in  her 
room  on  the  very  first  night  of  their  arrival  in  London,  and 
next  morning  she  ran  away  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Steele,  and 
refused  ever  to  enter  Coleraine's  doors  again.  Lord  Mel- 
bourne, as  might  be  expected,  now  held  entirely  aloof,  and 
on  being  applied  to  for  money,  definitely  declared  that  he 
had  done  with  Mrs.  Baddeley.  Still,  it  was  quite  useless  to 
talk  to  her  of  economy.  She  preferred  to  pawn  her 
diamonds  for  £1000  to  stave  oft'  the  most  pressing  of  her 
creditors,  and  went  on  for  a  time  much  as  usual,  hiring 
jewellery  whenever  she  wanted  to  make  a  show  in  the 
theatre  or  at  a  masquerade.  At  length  both  she  and 
Mrs.  Steele  were  arrested  and  lodged  in  a  sponging-house. 
Mrs.  Steele  bailed  herself  out,  and  went  about  amongst  Mrs. 
Baddeley's  aristocratic  friends  soliciting  help.  Both  Lord 
Melbourne  and  Lord  Coleraine  said  they  would  not  give 
Mrs.  Baddeley  another  shilling ;  and  equally  unsatisfactory, 


250    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

if  more  polite,  refusals  came  from  the  Duke  of  Queensberry, 
the  Duke  of  Northumberland,  Lord  Harrington,  and  other 
of  her  professed  admirers.  Then  Mrs.  Steele  drew  up  a 
letter  for  a  subscription,  and  by  tens  and  twenties,  from 
sixteen  noblemen  and  gentlemen,  whose  names  and  dona- 
tions are  set  forth  in  detail  in  the  Meinoirs,  she  got  together 
£400 :  to  this  the  Hon.  John  Damer  added  £500  ;  and  a  hat 
sent  round  at  Ranelagh  realised  another  £315.  It  does  not 
appear  that  this  money  was  used  to  pay  off  the  debt  for 
which  Mrs.  Baddeley  had  been  arrested ;  but  rather  less  than 
half  of  it  sufficed  to  free  Mrs.  Steele,  who  then  bailed  out 
her  friend ;  and  we  may  presume  that  in  the  meantime  they 
lived  on  the  balance. 

Being  an  extremely  superstitious  person,  Mrs.  Baddeley 
thought  her  present  circumstances  warranted  her  in  having 
recourse  to  a  fortune-teller,  and  sent  for  a  well-known 
practitioner  of  the  art,  named  Jones,  who  lived  in  the 
appropriate  neighbourhood  of  the  Old  Bailey.  This  man 
came  to  her  one  Monday  morning,  and  after  receiving  a 
fee  of  a  guinea  and  a  half,  told  her  that  if  she  would  walk 
in  St.  James's  Park  between  the  hours  of  one  and  two  on 
the  following  Wednesday  she  would  there  see  a  rather 
handsome,  tall,  thin,  dark  gentleman  of  genteel  appearance, 
wearing  a  gold  chain  round  his  neck,  who  would  be  of 
service  to  her.  Of  course  Mrs.  Baddeley  went  at  the  time 
named ;  and  when  she  saw  a  gentleman  there  who  in  every 
point  answered  to  the  description  of  the  fortune-teller,  she 
exclaimed — '  My  God  !  that 's  the  man !  The  fellow  Avho 
told  me  must  certainly  be  the  devil ! '  When  this  gentle- 
man accosted  her,  and  informed  her  that  his  name  was 
Sayer,  that  he  was  one  of  the  Sheriffs  of  the  City  of  London, 
that  he  had  long  wished  to  know  her,  and  that  his  office 
would  enable  him  to  protect  her  from  any  such  inconveni- 
ence as  she  had  recently  suffered  at  the  hands  of  Sheriff's 


SOPHIA  BADDELEY  251 

officers,  Mrs.  Baddeley  discerned  the  hand  of  Fate  in  the 
encounter.  It  never  seems  to  have  occurred  to  her  that 
Sayer  had  been  in  communication  with  his  fortune-telling 
neighbour  in  the  Old  Bailey,  and  had  concerted  this  little 
plan  to  obtain  an  introduction.  It  was  suggested  by  Sayer 
that  a  house  should  be  taken  for  Mrs.  Baddeley  in  Cleve- 
land Row,  St.  James's,  in  the  name  of  Mrs.  Steele,  and  on 
his  promise  to  be  responsible  for  the  rent.  He  did  not,  at 
first,  live  there ;  but  he  came  daily,  and  frequently  brought 
a  number  of  his  friends  to  dinner.  We  are  told  that  he 
entertained  his  friends  '  chiefly  with  beef-steaks,  which  he 
would  broil  himself  on  the  dining-room  fire,  and  it  made 
such  a  stink  and  dirt  that  I  was  ready  to  go  distracted.' 
After  a  short  interval,  Sayer  took  up  his  quarters  in  the 
house  altogether ;  and  Mrs.  Steele,  unable  to  endure  his 
behaviour,  and  finding  that  none  of  the  old  fashionable  con- 
nection would  condescend  to  call  at  the  house  where  he 
posed  as  master,  reluctantly  left  her  old  friend,  and  appar- 
ently saw  no  more  of  her  for  a  considerable  time. 

In  1773,  after  an  absence  of  two  years,  Mrs,  Baddeley 
re-appeared  at  Drury  Lane  theatre  on  the  occasion  of  Miss 
Younge's  benefit,  and  was  received  with  so  much  applause 
from  all  parts  of  the  house  that  it  was  more  than  ten  minutes 
before  she  could  go  on  with  her  part.  Garrick  thereupon 
offered  her  an  engagement  at  fourteen  guineas  a  week,  and 
she  once  more  became  a  member  of  his  company.  Soon 
after  this,  Sayer  married  an  elderly  woman  of  some  fortune, 
and  Mrs.  Baddeley  took  up  for  a  time  with  the  actor 
Brereton.  Then  she  went  to  live  with  Webster,  another 
member  of  the  Drury  Lane  company,  with  whom  she  re- 
mained for  several  years  and  by  whom  she  had  two  children. 
After  Webster's  death  she  lived  with  his  man-servant,  and 
when  Mrs.  Steele  again  met  with  her  in  1781  or  1782,  she 
was  living  with  this  man,  in  a  mean  little  house  in  Pimlico, 


252    COMEDY  (QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

in  a  state  of  poverty,  if  not  of  ntter  destitution ;  for  her 
Dniry  Lane  engagement  had  come  to  an  end,  and  there 
appeared  to  be  no  prospect  of  any  other.  After  this,  she  sang 
for  a  short  time  at  an  Exhibition  in  Lisle  Street,  called  the 
'  Eidophusicon ' ;  and  subsequently  obtained  a  good  engage- 
ment in  Ireland,  which  unfortunately,  however,  lasted  only 
for  one  season,  because  her  attraction  by  no  means  came 
up  to  the  manager's  expectations.  In  1783  she  went  to 
Edinburgh,  whence  Tate  Wilkinson  brought  her  down  to 
give  a  few  performances  for  him  at  the  York  Spring  Meet- 
ing of  that  year.  She  acted  Clarissa,  Polly,  Rosetta,  Imogen, 
and  several  of  her  principal  characters  at  York,  and  was, 
as  Tate  tells  us  in  his  Wandering  Patentee,  much  admired. 
But  on  the  last  night  there  she  almost  entirely  lost  her 
credit. 

'  She  was  very  lame,  and  to  make  that  worse,  was  so  stupidly 
intoxicated  with  laudanum  that  it  was  with  great  difficulty  she 
could  finish  the  performance.' 

Tate  adds  that  the  quantity  of  laudanum  she  habitually 
took  was  '  incredible ' ;  but  that  in  spite  of  this,  and  of  the 
fact  that  she  ate  scarcely  any  food,  her  complexion  retained 
its  beauty  to  the  last.  When  his  company  returned  to 
Leeds,  where  Mrs.  Baddeley  was  booked  to  perform  four  or 
five  nights,  he  declares  that,  what  with  illness,  laziness,  and 
inebriety,  he  was  never  certain  of  her  performance  from 
one  night  to  another.  She  received  '  very  genteel '  pa}^- 
ment  from  him,  but  what  she  did  with  her  money  he  could 
never  make  out,  for  '  when  she  was  to  return  to  Scotland 
she  was  in  truth  reduced  to  beggary,  not  worth  a  single 
shilling.'  And  then  follows  a  sentence  which  needs  to  be 
borne  in  mind  by  the  reader  of  her  Memoirs : — '  Her  friend 
and  companion,  a  Mrs.  Stell  (sio),  was  with  her,  who,  I  fancy, 
had  always   occasion   for  such   sums  as  that  unfortunate 


SOPHIA  JBADDELEY  253 

woman  received.'  She  continued  to  play  in  Edinburgh,  at 
a  comparatively  poor  salary,  for  the  following  two  years,  and 
when  at  length  consumption  rendered  her  incapable  of  the 
exertion,  the  other  performers  there  generously  subscribed 
a  small  sum  Aveekly  for  her  support,  until  she  died  on  July 
1st,  1786. 

A  word  or  two  in  conclusion  must  be  given  to  poor  Robert 
Baddeley,  who  survived  his  beautiful  but  misguided  wife  for 
more  than  eight  years.  He  made  for  himself  a  special  line 
of  business  in  what  may  be  called  broken-English  parts ; 
and  Boaden  says  that  his  Swiss  and  his  Jews,  his  Germans, 
and  his  Frenchmen,  were  admirably  characteristic,  being 
'finely  generalised,  and  played  from  actual  knowledge  of 
the  people,  not  from  a  casual  snatch  at  individual  peculiari- 
ties.' He  was  also  the  original  '  Moses '  in  the  School  for 
Scandal,  and  in  addition  to  such  parts  as  those  of  '  Dr. 
Druid,'  '  Dr.  Caius,'  '  Fluellen,'  and  '  M.  le  Medecin,'  Genest 
mentions  over  eighty  characters  which  he  represented 
during  the  thirty-six  years  of  his  theatrical  career.  His 
salary  was  never  large ;  but,  in  striking  contrast  to  his  wife, 
he  was  industrious  and  saving.  He  died  in  harness,  falling 
back  in  a  fit  one  day  in  November  1794,  while  dressing  for 
his  part  of '  Moses,'  and  expiring  on  the  following  day.  He 
is  chiefly  remembered  for  certain  peculiar  bequests  in  his 
will.  A  house  in  New  Store  Street  was  bequeathed  (subject 
to  a  life  interest  for  'his  faithful  friend  and  companion. 
Miss  Catherine  Strickland,  generally  called  and  known  by 
the  name  of  Baddeley')  to  the  society  established  for  the 
relief  of  indigent  persons  belonging  to  Drury  Lane  Theatre. 
His  freehold  house  and  ground  at  Moulsey  were  left  as  an 
asylum  for  decayed  actors  and  actresses,  who  were  to  be 
allowed  a  small  pension  each  when  the  net  produce  of  the 
property  should  exceed  a  specified  sum.  And  special  care 
was  to  be  taken  to  have  the  words  '  Baddeley's  Asylum ' 


254    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

prominently  displa3^ed  on  the  front  of  the  house.  By  way 
of  counteracting  certain  slanderous  aspersions  on  his  conduct, 
and  '  to  prevent  the  world  from  looking  on  his  memory  in 
the  villainous  point  of  view  as  set  forth  in  certain  books, 
pamphlets,  etc' — by  which  he  doubtless  chiefly  meant  the 
Memoirs  by  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Steele, — his  executors  were 
directed  to  publish  every  year  a  letter  of  his,  respecting  his 
disagreement  with  his  unhappy  wife,  which  had  appeared 
in  the  General  Advertiser  for  April  20,  1790.  And,  finally, 
the  interest  of  £100  worth  of  Consolidated  Bank  Annuities 
was  devoted  to  the  purchase  of  a  Twelfth-cake,  wine,  and 
punch,  which  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre  were  requested  to  partake  of  in  the  great  green- 
room of  the  theatre  every  Twelfth-night,  in  memory  of  a 
brother  actor  who  evidently  wished  them  well,  and  desired 
that  they  should  contuiue  to  think  well  of  him.  The  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre  on  Twelfth-night  are 
scarcely  the  kind  of  performers  which  Robert  Baddeley  had 
in  his  mind's  eye ;  but  every  Twelfth-night  his  three  pounds' 
worth  of  cake  and  wine  and  punch  is  duly  brought  forth 
and,  with  kindly  feelings  we  may  hope,  by  them  consumed. 


FROM    THE    ENGRAVING     BY    KNIGHT     OF    THE     PORTRAIT    BY    SIR    THOMAS    LAV/RENCE 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY) 

Notwithstanding  that  Elizabeth  Farren  was  the  Oldfield 
of  her  day — par  excellence,  the  fine  lady  of  her  time,  and 
notwithstanding,  moreover,  that  while  she  was  the  second 
actress  to  be   received  within    the   ranks   of  the   English 
peerage,  she  was  the  first  to  attain  that  dignity  without  any 
previous  scandal  being  attached  to  her  name,  the  materials 
for  her  Life  are  far  more  scanty  than  those  of  many  a  more 
obscure  actress.     But  although  we  may  take  it  as  an  in- 
voluntary testimony  to  the  unexampled  propriety  of  her 
conduct  that  her  biographers  had  so  poor  a  story  to  tell, 
we  may  be  permitted  to  regret  that,  at  the  time  when  at 
least  some  authentic  information  must  have  been  procur- 
able, two  such  very  poor  biographers  were  the  only  persons 
to  take  the  matter  in  hand.     Soon  after  her  marriage  to 
Lord  Derby  in  1797  there  appeared  a  little  eigh teen-penny 
book  of  thirty-one  pages,  by  a  writer  who  called  himself 
'  Petronius  Arbiter,'  which  was  dignified  with  the  title  of 
Memoirs  of  the  iwesent   Countess  of  Derby,  wherein  the 
writer,  somewhat  satirically,  not  to  say  maliciously,  gave  a 
brief   and    not    altogether   accurate    account   of    the   new 
peeress's   origin  and  theatrical  career.      This  was  quickly 
followed  by  another  little  book  of   about   the   same  size, 
entitled  The  Testimony  of  Truth  to  Exalted  Merit:   or  a 
Biographical  Sketch  of  the  Rt.  Hon.  the  Countess  of  Derby, 
which  purports  to  be  an  authentic  refutation  of  the  fore- 
going '  false  and  scandalous  libel.'     But  this  latter  produc- 
tion, likewise,  is  by  no  means  unimpeachably  accurate,  and 

255 


256  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEOKGIAN  ERA 

if  it  was  an  '  inspired '  biography  must  have  been  intention- 
ally meagre  and  vague.  '  Petronius  Arbiter'  asserted  that 
Elizabeth  Farren's  father  began  his  career  in  life  by 
hammering  drugs  for  an  apothecary  in  Cork,  that  he 
afterwards  joined  a  company  of  strolling  players,  and 
subsequently  got  an  engagement  to  play  second-  and  third- 
rate  parts  in  the  Liverpool  theatre.  It  is  also  said  that  as 
soon  as  he  found  himself  in  possession  of  a  regular  salary, 
Farren  took  to  drink ;  that  he  generally  contrived  to  walk 
on  soberly  in  the  first  act,  but  more  often  than  not  staggered 
off  quite  drunk  before  the  expiration  of  the  fifth.  On  one 
occasion,  we  are  told,  when  in  the  course  of  his  part  he  had 
to  tear  up  a  certain  letter,  he  was  so  tipsy  that  after  ex- 
claiming seven  or  eight  times — '  and  thus  I  tear  the  letter,' 
and  making  as  many  attempts  to  do  so  without  success,  he 
suddenly  altered  the  text  of  his  author  to — 'and  thus  I 
throw  the  letter  from  me,'  and  having  performed  this  easier 
operation,  enabled  the  play  to  proceed.  '  Petronius  Arbiter ' 
goes  on  to  relate  that  about  the  year  1758  Farren  married 
the  daughter  of  a  Liverpool  publican,  who  was  herself 
ambitious  to  make  a  figure  on  the  stage,  and  that  when 
the  eldest  of  his  children  was  only  ten  or  eleven  years  of 
age  he  died,  leaving  his  wife  and  family  in  great  distress. 
In  the  TestiTThony  of  Truth  we  are  informed  that  although 
Mr.  Farren  had  his  failings,  he  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of 
character  which  that  '  hireling '  scribbler  '  Petronius '  had 
represented.  He  had  been  regularly  apprenticed,  and  had 
subsequently  practised  as  a  surgeon  and  apothecary  in 
Cork ;  had  married,  late  in  life,  the  daughter,  not  of  a 
publican,  but  of  an  eminent  brewer  of  Liverpool ;  and  that 
he  died  during  Elizabeth's  early  childhood,  and  was  re- 
membered by  all  who  had  known  him  as  '  a  man  of  probity, 
urbanity,  and  pleasantness.'  There  is  no  hint  in  this  '  re- 
futation '  that  Farren  ever  had  any  connection   with  the 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)   257 

stage ;  but  neither  is  there  any  explicit  denial  of  Petronius's 
assertion  that  he  was  a  strolling  player.  Dr.  Doran  tells  a 
story  (on  what  authority  does  not  appear)  according  to 
which  Farren  in  1769  was  manager  of  a  strolling  company, 
and  being  at  Salisbury  on  Christmas  eve  that  year,  accom- 
panied by  Elizabeth,  while  Mrs.  Farren  and  the  other 
children  remained  in  Liverpool,  was  put  in  the  lock-up 
as  a  rogue  and  a  vagabond,  and  that  on  Christmas  morning 
the  future  countess  carried  to  him  a  bowl  of  hot  milk  for 
breakfast,  which  the  actor  drank  through  the  cage-bars  of 
his  prison  window.  This  sounds  like  a  romance;  but  in 
John  Bernard's  Retrospections  there  is  a  story  which  shows 
that  Farren,  far  from  having  died  when  Elizabeth  was  ten  or 
eleven  years  of  age,  was  very  much  alive  in  1783,  when  his 
daughter  was  at  the  top  of  her  profession,  kept  her  carriage, 
and  lived  in  a  fine  house  in  the  most  fashionable  part  of  the 
West  End  of  London.  Bernard,  in  the  course  of  his  own 
wanderings,  lodged  in  1783  at  a  hairdresser's  in  the  prin- 
cipal street  of  Sligo,  where,  scratched  on  one  of  the  panes 
of  his  chamber  window  he  found  some  lines  of  verse  which 
induced  him  to  inquire  the  name  and  history  of  their 
author.  He  was  told  that  the  lines  had  been  traced  by  a 
Mr.  Farren,  who  had  visited  Sligo,  as  a  member  of  Shep- 
herd's company,  in  the  previous  summer;  and  he  was 
further  informed  that  Farren  was  as  distins^uished  for  his 
superior  education  and  refinement  as  Shepherd  was  for  his 
ignorance  and  a  brutal  and  overbearing  disposition.  The 
following  lines,  it  was  supposed,  had  been  written  by  Farren 
after  some  more  than  ordinary  exhibition  of  his  manager's 
brutality : — 

'  How  different  David's  fate  from  mine  ! 

His  blessed,  mine  is  evil — 

His  Shejjherd  was  the  Lord  divine, 

My  Shepherd  is  the  Devil.' 

R 


258  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Bernard  goes  on  to  say : — 

'This  gentleman  was  the  father  of  that  accomplished  actress, 
the  late  Countess  of  Derby  ;  and,  setting  aside  the  intrinsic  merit 
of  the  impromptu,  I  was  induced  to  think  that  if  the  -pane  could  be 
conveyed  to  that  lad}"  it  would  give  her  some  pleasure.  With  this 
view  I  offered  my  host  a  fair  sum  to  extract  it ;  but  he  would  not 
consent,  for  he  considered  a  certain  luck  to  consist  in  its  safe  pre- 
servation. "  Mr.  Burnard,"  said  he,  "ever  since  Mr.  Farren  wrote 
those  verses,  I  have  niver  wanted  a  lodger  !  " ' 

Whatever  her  father  may  have  been  when  alive,  however, 
and  whenever  he  may  have  died,  there  is  no  doubt  that  her 
early  days  were  passed  in  great  poverty,  and  sometimes 
distress.  There  is  no  doubt  also  that  both  her  mother  and 
sister  and  herself  belonged  to  a  strolling  company.  The 
writer  of  the  refutation  of  '  Petronius '  does  not  deny  the 
early  poverty  of  Mrs,  Farren  and  her  family,  alleging  (truly 
enough)  that  there  is  no  necessity  to  disguise  the  truth, 
seeing  that  '  it  is  far  from  being  dishonourable  to  any  person 
of  exalted  rank  that,  though  title  and  affluence  now  sur- 
round him,  he  or  his  ancestors  once  dwelt  in  a  cottage ' ;  but 
he  evidently  feels  so  uncomfortable  in  admitting  the  fact, 
that  he  seeks  for  analogous  instances  in  Pope  Sixtus  v.  and 
other  illustrious  persons.  It  is  admitted  that  Miss  Farren 
began  to  earn  her  living  at  the  early  age  of  fourteen ; 
but  the  strolling  is  repudiated,  and  we  are  assured  that  '  the 
manner  in  which  she  commenced  her  theatrical  career,  the 
companies  with  which  she  was  connected,  and  the  situation 
which  she  filled  in  them,  were  as  respectable  as  an  engage- 
ment out  of  London  could  possibly  afford.'  That  she  made 
her  debut  in  a  strolling  company,  or  ever  associated  with 
one  afterwards,  is  declared  to  be  an  invention  of  the 
malignant  '  hireling  scribbler '  already  mentioned.  But 
what  little  independent  evidence  there  is  tends  to  prove 
that    both    Mrs.  Farren  and  her  two   daughters  belonged 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)   250 

to  companies  of  the  itinerant  variety.  As  soon  as  they 
Avere  capable  Mrs.  Farren  put  her  children  on  the  stage, 
where  Peggy  (afterwards  Mrs.  Knight)  is  said  to  have 
shown  great  vivacity  and  sprightliness  in  the  parts  of 
girls,  chambermaids,  etc.,  while  Betsey  received  great 
applause  as  Edward  the  Fifth  in  Richard  the  Third,  and 
in  similar  boy's  parts.  '  Petronius  Arbiter '  says  they  be- 
longed to  a  '  sharing '  company  of  which  the  following 
was  one  of  the  attendant  disadvantages : — 

'  The  scenery  and  wardrobe  of  a  company  of  this  kind  cannot  be 
supposed  to  be  very  ponderous  articles ;  if,  therefore,  at  any  time, 
the  funds  of  the  company  were  so  low  as  not  to  furnish  the  neces- 
sary sum  for  the  hire  of  any  kind  of  vehicle  to  convey  the  live  and 
dead  stock  from  town  to  town,  each  member  took  a  portion  of  the 
scenery  or  wardrobe  on  his  back,  and  trudged  on  to  where  they 
next  intended  to  establish  themselves  ^  nor  were  the  ladies  excused 
on  such  occasions.  Whenever  this  circumstance  occurred  in  a 
company  to  which  for  many  years  Mrs.  Farren  belonged,  it  always 
fell  to  the  lot  of  Lady  Derby  to  carry  the  drum  ! ' 

According  to  an  old  play-bill  preserved  by  Tate  Wilkin- 
son in  his  Wandering  Patentee,  the  three  Farrens  were 
engaged  in  Whiteley's  company  when  playing  at  the 
theatre  in  George  Yard,  Wakefield,  in  1774.  Mrs.  Farren's 
name  appears  as  one  of  the  masquers;  Miss  K.  Farren 
took  the  part  of  a  servant-maid  in  the  pantomime  of  Old 
Mother  Redcap ;  and  Miss  E.  Farren,  who  was  Columbine  in 
the  pantomime,  also  sang  between  the  acts  of  another  piece. 
Soon  after  this  they  all  got  an  engagement  with  Younger  of 
the  Liverpool  theatre,  who  appears  to  have  taken  an  especial 
liking  to  Elizabeth.  His  corps  was  a  very  respectable  one, 
and  he  himself  is  described  as  'a  gentleman  not  more 
generally  known  and  esteemed  for  his  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  theatrical  concerns,  and  the  correctness  of  his 
judgment,  than  for  the  suavity  of  his  manners,  the 
generosity  of  his   disposition,  and   the   excellence   of  his 


260  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

heart.'  She  made  her  first  appearance  in  the  Liverpool 
theatre  in  1774  as  Rosetta  in  Love  in  a  Village,  and  a 
short  time  after  scored  a  distinct  success  as  Lady  Townley 
in  The  Provoked  Husband.  At  this  time  she  cannot  have 
been  more  than  fifteen  years  of  age.  From  1774  to  the 
beginning  of  1777  she  continued  to  perform  at  Liverpool 
and  other  provincial  theatres,  particularly  at  Chester  and 
at  Shrewsbury,  'always  under  the  eye  of  her  paternal 
friend  Mr.  Younger,  who  treated  her  as  a  child  of  his 
own,  and  rendered  the  circumstances  of  her  mother  and 
sister  .  .  .  comfortable,  though  not  abundant.'  Younger, 
indeed,  had  her  success  so  much  at  heart  that,  to  his 
own  manifest  disadvantage,  he  interested  himself  to  get 
her  an  engagement  with  Colman  at  the  Haymarket. 

In  the  spring  of  1777  she  came  up  to  London,  accom- 
panied by  her  mother  and  her  only  surviving  sister,  and 
on  the  10th  of  June  made  her  first  appearance  at  the 
little  theatre  in  the  Haymarket  as  Miss  Hardcastle  in 
Goldsmith's  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.  Boaden  sa3's  she  was 
greatly  admired,  and  that  it  was  obvious  from  the  first 
that  her  lovely  expression,  her  intelligence,  and  the  air 
of  fashion  about  her,  would,  at  no  very  distant  period, 
place  her  in  the  seat  of  Mrs.  Abington,  whenever  that 
lady  should  retire.  Other  parts  in  which  she  gained  great 
applause  in  the  course  of  her  first  year  were  those  of 
Maria  in  Murphy's  Citizen,  Rosetta  in  Love  in  a  Village, 
Miss  Tittup  in  Garrick's  Bon  Ton,  and  Rosina  Lovell  in 
Colman's  Suicide.  She  attracted  general  admiration,  and 
amongst  those  who  were  loudest  in  her  praise  was  Charles 
James  Fox.  Mrs.  Charles  Mathews  says  that  Fox's  visits 
to  the  green-room  Avere  so  frequent,  and  his  attentions  so 
pointed,  that  before  long  his  undoubted  devotion  to  Miss 
Farren  became  a  matter  of  notoriety  both  within  and  with- 
out the  theatre.     In  the  green-room — 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)   261 

'It  was  perceptible  that  the  object  of  these  assiduities  received 
her  illustrious  lover  with  modest  welcome, — which,  however,  could 
not  be  misconstrued  into  any  undue  encouragement  of  a  sentiment 
which  was  naturally  flattering  to  her  pride,  even  had  her  heart 
remained  unmoved.  This,  as  it  was  believed,  mutiml  attachment 
became  the  topic  of  general  interest,  and  .  .  .  expectation  stood 
on  tiptoe  for  the  moment  when  it  should  be  proclaimed  that  the 
British  Demosthenes  had  given  his  hand  where  he  had  so  evidently 
bestowed  his  heart.' 

But  by  and  by  the  statesman's  ardour  cooled,  and  the  green- 
room knew  him  no  more.  In  the  Testimony  of  Truth 
biography  there  is  only  a  brief  and  rather  enigmatical  refer- 
ence to  this  episode.  Much,  we  are  told,  has  been  said  of 
Fox's  penchant  for  Miss  Farren ;  but  '  if  it  ever  subsisted  it 
certainly  was  of  short  continuance ;  and  that  it  was  so  must 
undoubtedly  be  regarded  as  highly  honourable  to  herself.' 
'  Petronius  Arbiter/  however,  is  ready  with  an  explanation  of 
the  crreat  orator's  defection.     The  character  which  she  took 

o 

in  Colman's  Suicide,  during  her  second  season  at  the  Hay- 
market,  was  a  '  breeches '  part ;  and  he  informs  us  that  her 
tall,  sUm  figure  showed  to  such  disadvantage  in  male  attire 
that  the  revelation  effectually  cured  Fox  of  his  infatuation. 
Whether  this  be  true  or  not,  her  appearance  in  the  'breeches' 
part,  for  which  she  was  in  no  way  suited,  somewhat  lessened 
her  attractiveness  to  the  theatre-going  pubhc ;  and  it  was  not 
until  she  appeared  as  Lady  Townley  in  TJie  Provoked  Hus- 
band that  her  reputation  as  an  actress  was  re-established. 
Curiously  enough,  she  had  been  very  reluctant  to  assume 
this  character,  although  at  the  age  of  fifteen  she  had  played 
it  with  much  applause  at  Liverpool ;  and  it  Avas  only  by 
Parsons'  urgent  representations  that  she  was  persuaded  to 
play  the  part  for  his  benefit.  The  result  certainly  justified 
his  selection ;  for  it  was  this  character  which  fixed  her  once 
for  all  in  the  estimation  of  the  critics  and  the  public  as  an 
actress  of  distinction  and  refinement,  who  in  that  particular 


262  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

line  had  no  rival  but  Mrs.  Abington.  After  this  she  was 
engaged  at  Driiry  Lane,  and  her  theatrical  career  continued 
to  be  one  of  uninterrupted  prosperity.  She  was  not  remark- 
able as  the  '  creator '  of  new  parts ;  but  in  upwards  of  one 
hundred  established  characters  she  continued  for  nearly 
twenty  years  to  delight  a  succession  of  enthusiastic  audiences. 
Even  before  she  had  arrived  at  the  acme  of  her  dramatic 
fame,  as  Mrs.  Charles  Mathews  assures  us,  Miss  Farren's 
domestic  virtues,  'her  fond  attention  to  her  mother,  and 
affectionate  devotion  to  her  sister,  together  with  her  un- 
deviating  personal  propriety,  proved  no  inconsiderable 
recommendation  to  public  favour.'  '  Petronius  Arbiter '  says 
tliat  soon  after  Charles  James  Fox  discontinued  his  visits, 
the  Earl  of  Derby  began  to  pay  attentions  to  her,  that 
he  procured  patrons  for  her  amongst  the  fine  ladies  of  his 
acquaintance,  and  used  his  influence  with  Sheridan  to 
advance  her  consequence  in  the  theatre.  But  this  is  not 
altogether  correct.  In  a  note  by  John  Riddell  to  one  of 
Horace  Walpole's  letters,  we  are  assured  that  Miss  Farren's 
first  patronesses  and  acquaintances  in  London  were  Lady 
Ailesbury  and  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Damer,  who  became  such  by 
the  desire  of  the  Duchess  of  Leinster,  Avho  knew  something 
of  her  family  in  Ireland ;  and  Riddell  adds,  '  it  is  not  true 
that  she  was  introduced  to  these  ladies  by  Lord  Derby  (whom 
she  did  not  then  know),  but  just  the  reverse.'  At  what  date 
she  made  Lord  Derby's  acquaintance  does  not  appear ;  but 
it  was  probably  about  1778  or  1779.  In  January  of  the  latter 
year,  Horace  Walpole,  writing  to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  mentioned 
among  other  items  of  the  gossip  which  he  loved  to  retail 
that  the  Duke  of  Dorset  was  waiting  for  a  Duchess  till  Lad}'^ 
Derby  was  divorced,  adding — '  He  would  not  marry  her 
before  Lord  Derby  did,  and  now  is  forced  to  take  her,  when 
he  himself  has  made  her  a  very  bad  match.'  But  the 
divorce  did  not,  for  some  reason  not  specified,  ever  take 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)   263 

place ;  and  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Derby  continued  to  live 
separate  lives  for   the  following  twenty  years.     'Petronius 
Arbiter '  says  that  the  earl,  being  in  this  awkward  position, 
made  Miss  Farren  an  offer  of  carte  blanche  ;  and,  as  even  the 
other  biographer  observes,  had  the  attachment   been  pur- 
sued to  the  customary  consequences  of  such  connections,  the 
world  would  have  been  more  disposed  to  find  excuses  than 
to  vent  any  very  rigid  censure  on  either  of  the  parties.     But 
Miss  Farren  rejected  such  a  proposal  with  disdain;  and  Lord 
Derby  was  compelled  to  atone  for  the  insult  by   the  most 
humble    behaviour.     After    her   increasing  prosperity   had 
justified  her  in  removing  from  her  lodgings  in  Suffolk  Street, 
near  the  Haymarket,  to  a  house  in  Green  Street,  Grosvenor 
Square,  Lord   Derby  is  said   to  have   been  frequently  seen 
following  her,  rather  than  walking  with  her,  all  the  way  from 
Old  Drury  to  the  West  End,  '  puffing  from  want  of  breath 
and  sighing  his  soft  tale,  while  she,  from  mere  wantonness' 
has  kept  him  on  the  jog-trot,  and  hardly  deigned  to  give  him 
a  smile.'     Mrs.  Farren  was  her  daughter's  inseparable  com- 
panion, and  apparently  the  other  daughter,  Margaret,  lived 
with  them  until  her  marriage  to  the  actor.  Knight,  in  1788. 
Margaret  was  a  competent  actress,  who,  after  appearing  at 
Covent  Garden  on  her  wedding  night  as  Bridget  in   The 
Chapter  of  Accidents,  gave  up  her  engagement  in  London 
and    retired    to    Bath,   where   she  remained    a    theatrical 
favourite  until  her  death  in  1804.     How  these  three  women, 
of  poor  birth,  and  no  early  education,  managed  to  hold  their 
own   in  fashionable  society  is  a  mystery;  but  there  is  no 
doubt  that  they  did.     In  Horace  Walpole's  opinion,  Elizabeth 
Farren  was  the  first  of  aU  actresses ;  and  in  one  of  his  letters 
to  the  Countess  of  Ossory  in  1787,  he  gives  what  he  believed 
to  be  the  reason  for  it. 

'  Who  should  act  genteel  comedy  perfectly  but  people  of  fashion 
who  have  sense  1    Actors  and  actresses  can  only  guess  at  the  tone 


264    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

of  high  life,  and  c&nnot  be  inspired  with  it.  Why  are  there  so 
few  genteel  comedies  but  because  most  comedies  are  written  hy- 
men not  of  that  sphere  ?  Etheridge,  Congreve,  Vanbrugh,  and 
Gibber  \ATote  genteel  comedy  because  they  lived  in  the  best  com- 
pany ;  and  Mrs.  Oldfield  played  it  so  well  because  she  not  only 
followed,  but  often  set  the  fashion.  General  Burgoyne  has  written 
the  best  modern  comedy,  for  the  same  reason ;  and  Miss  Farren  is 
as  excellent  as  Mrs.  Oldfield  because  she  has  lived  with  the  best 
style  of  men  in  England.' 

In  several  of  his  later  letters,  he  mentions  having  'supped  at 
Miss  Farren's,'  when  the  company  he  met  would  be  some- 
times of  a  theatrical,  sometimes  of  an  aristocratic  cast.  And 
one  of  his  editors  quotes  Lord  Berwick,  a  well-known  diplo- 
matist, as  saying — 

'  "Ah,  those  charming  suppers  !  at  the  Bow  Window  House  in 
Green  Street,  where  I  was  admitted  when  I  was  a  very  young  man, 
and  where  one  used  to  meet  General  Conway,  and  Lady  Ailesbury, 
Mrs.  Damer,  the  old  Duchess  of  Leinster,  and  the  Ogilvies ; 
General  Burgoyne,  Fitzpatrick,  your  father,  and  all  the  pleasantest 
people  in  London  " ;  and  then  he  generally  ended  with  eulogies  on 
her  acting  in  The  Heiress.  "Ah  !  that  game  at  chess,  that  game  at 
chess.     I  shall  never  see  anything  like  it  again." ' 

There  is  plenty  of  evidence  that  she  was  much  caressed  by 
fashionable  society.  When  the  Duke  of  Richmond  instituted 
private  theatricals  in  Privy  Gardens,  with  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Damer,  Lord  Henry  Fitzgerald,  Lord  Derby,  and  other  per- 
sons of  quality  as  performers.  Miss  Farren  was  chosen  to  be 
director  and  manager  of  the  stage  business.  It  is  said  that 
it  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  the  earl,  in  his  quaint 
theatrical  costume,  and  with  his  face  painted  and  smeared 
for  a  dress  rehearsal,  at  length  made  to  Miss  Farren  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage.  A  bond  is  believed  to  have  been  drawn 
up,  according  to  which  she  agreed  to  remain  unmarried  in 
the  meantime,  on  condition  that  as  soon  as  his  present 
countess  died  he  would  marry  her.     However  this  may  be, 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)    265 

from  that  time  forward  Miss  Farren  was  generally  regarded 
as  the  Countess  of  Derby  elect.  The  writer  of  the  Testimony 
of  Truth  tells  us  that '  the  affection  of  Lord  Derby  for  Miss 
Farren  was  that  of  a  mind  strongly  imbued  with  a  sense  of 
honour,  and  deeply  sensible  of  the  virtues  of  its  object. 
The  assiduity  of  his  lordship  was  flattering,  and  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  stood  with  relation  to  his  countess  were 
such  as  by  no  means  to  render  any  such  attachment  inde- 
corous.' He  usually  escorted  her  to  and  from  the  theatre ;  or, 
if  public  or  private  business  compelled  his  presence  else- 
where, his  son,  Lord  Stanley,  appeared  in  his  place.  She  was 
extremely  discreet ;  she  never  went  out  anywhere  unaccom- 
panied by  her  mother  ;  and  we  are  assured  that  Lord  Derby 
never  had  an  interview  with  her  in  her  own  house  at  which 
the  mother  was  not  also  present.  Apparently,  however,  he 
did  occasionally  manage  to  snatch  an  uninterrupted  inter- 
view elsewhere;  for  Miss  Frances  Williams  Wynn,  in  her 
Diaries  of  a  Lady  of  Quality,  records  that  in  her  young 
days  she  often  saw  Miss  Farren  act  the  part  of  Lady  Teazle 
in  The  School  for  Scandal,  when — 

'  I  recollect  (not  the  admirable  acting  in  the  famous  screen  scene 
hut)  the  circumstance  of  seeing  Lord  Derby  leaving  his  private  box 
to  creep  to  her  behind  the  scene ;  and,  of  course,  we  all  looked 
with  impatience  for  the  discovery,  hoping  the  screen  would  fall  a 
little  too  soon,  and  show  to  the  audience  Lord  Derby  as  well  as 
Lady  Teazle.' 

For  many  years,  according  to  '  Petronius  Arbiter,'  a  servant 
was  sent  regularly  at  ten  o'clock  every  morning  from  his 
lordship's  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  to  Miss  Farren's  in 
Green  Street,  to  inquire  after  her  health  and  whether  she 
had  slept  well.  Whether  this  be  true  or  not,  the  earl  was 
certainly  most  constant  in  his  affection,  and  most  assiduous 
in  his  attentions.    An  unwonted  absence  from  divine  service 


266  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

one  Sunda}^  for  example,  would  cause  him  to   drop   into 
poetry  in  the  following  strain : — 

'  To  Miss  Farren 
ON  Her  being  absent  from  Church. 

'  While  wond'ring  Angels,  as  they  look'd  from  high, 

Observ'd  thine  Absence  with  an  holy  sigh, 

To  them  a  bright  exalted  Seraph  said, 

"  Blame  not  the  conduct  of  the  absent  maid  ! 
Where  e'er  she  goes,  her  steps  can  never  stray. 
Religion  walks  companion  of  her  way  : 
She  goes  with  ev'ry  virtiions  thought  imprest, 
Heav'n  on  her  Face,  and  Heav'n  within  her  Breast." ' 

Miss  Farren  seldom  acted  out  of  London ;  but  we  hear  of 
her  going  on  the  northern  circuit  in  the  summer  of  1787,  by 
Colman's  permission,  to  play  for  the  benefit  of  her  sister 
Margaret.     She  then  achieved  the  distinction  of  three  rows 

o 

of  the  pit  laid  into  the  boxes,  and  attracted  so  elegant  an 
audience,  and  liked  her  reception  so  well,  says  Tate  Wilkin- 
son, that,  with  Colman's  permission,  she  engaged  for  a 
further  week  at  York  and  '  was  attended  with  every  respect, 
admiration,  and  attention  she  could  expect,  or  her  infinite 
merit  deserve.'  She  then  treated  the  good  Yorkshire  folk  to 
her  impersonations  of  Lady  Paragon,  Lady  Townley,  Lady 
Teazle,  Mrs.  Oakley,  Widow  Belmour,  and  other  ladies  of 
fashion,  as  well  as  appearing  as  Miss  Tittup  in  Bon  Ton  and 
other  smaller  parts.  Two  years  later  she  made  another 
summer  tour,  when,  being  patronised  by  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
his  pronounced  partiality  for  her  acting  so  influenced  the 
public,  that  her  receipts  for  a  few  nights  approached  those 
of  Mrs.  Siddons  herself,  the  greatest  theatrical  favourite  the 
country  had  ever  known.  For  once  the  concurrent  taste  of 
the  prince  and  the  public  may  be  unreservedly  commended, 
for,  of  the  superlative  excellence  of  Miss  Farren's  acting, 
there   seem  to  have  been  scarcely  two  opinions.     Boaden 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)    267 

speaks  of  her  '  sparkling  captivities ' ;  Hazlitt  of  her  '  fine- 
lady  airs  and  graces,'  of  her  '  elegant  turn  of  her  head  and 
motion  of  her  hand,  and  tripping  of  her  tongue ' ;  Cumber- 
land of  the  'exquisite  style'  in  which  she  performed  the 
part  of  Lady  Paragon  in  his  comedy  of  The  Natural  Son. 
Mrs.  Charles  Mathews  says  that  so  completely  did  she  make 
the  character  of  Lady  Teazle  her  own,  that  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  she  had  transformed  Sheridan's  less  refined 
heroine  into  the  fine  lady  of  her  own  time,  her  fascinating 
performance  of  it  almost  obliterated  the  remembrance  of 
the  original  representation  of  the  part.  While  George 
Colman  remarks  that '  no  person  has  ever  more  successfully 
performed  the  elegant  levities  of  Lady  Townley  upon  the 
stage,  or  more  happily  practised  the  amiable  virtues  of 
Lady  Grace  in  the  highest  circles  of  society.'  Although 
her  unexampled  rise  in  her  profession,  and  at  the  same  time 
in  fashionable  society,  begot  a  good  deal  of  jealousy,  and 
called  forth  some  satire,  no  one  ever  made  the  slightest 
imputation  on  her  virtue.  And  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  green-room  of  Drury  Lane  theatre  in  her  time  was 
stigmatised  by  Mrs.  Siddons  as  a  '  sink  of  iniquity.'  Mrs. 
Inchbald  used  to  say  that  to  fix  the  degrees  and  shades  of 
female  virtue  amongst  the  actresses  of  that  time  would  have 
afforded  employment  for  a  very  able  casuist ;  a  propos  of 
which  she  would  tell  the  following  story : — 

'  One  evening,  about  half  an  hour  before  the  curtain  was  drawn 
up,  some  accident  having  happened  in  the  dressing-room  of  one  of 
the  actresses,  a  woman  of  known  intrigue,  she  ran  in  haste  to 
the  dressing-room  of  Mrs.  Wells,  to  finish  the  business  of  her 
toilette.  Mrs.  Wells,  Avho  was  the  mistress  of  the  well-known 
Major  Topham,  shocked  at  the  intrusion  of  a  reprobated  woman 
who  had  a  worse  character  than  herself,  quitted  her  own  room 
and  ran  to  Miss  Farren's,  crying — "What  would  Major  Topham 
say  if  I  were  to  remain  in  such  company  1 "  No  sooner  had  she 
entered  the  room,  to  which  as  an  asylum  she  had  fled,  than  Miss 


268    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Farren  flew  out  of  the  door,  repeating — "  What  Avould  Lord  Derby 
say  if  I  should  be  seen  in  such  company  1 " ' 

Lord  Derby,  however,  as  the  poem  abeady  quoted  shows, 
was  of  the  opinion  of  the  angels  that  '  her  steps  could  never 
stray.'  In  fact,  his  confidence  and  constancy  were  such  as 
to  become  a  by-word  among  his  friends.  Horace  Walpole, 
writing  to  Miss  Berry  in  June  1791,  casuall}'^  remarks  that 
his  old  enemy  the  east  wind  has  been  '  as  constant  as  Lord 
Derby.'  And  three  years  later  he  wrote  to  the  same 
correspondent  that  he  and  General  Conway  had  been 
together  to  Miss  Farren's  house  in  Green  Street,  and  there — 

'besides  her  duenna-mother,  found  her  at  piquet  with  her 
unalterable  Earl.  Apropos,  I  have  observed  of  late  years,  that 
when  Earls  take  strong  attachments,  they  are  more  steady  than 
other  men.' 

Horace  himself,  it  may  be  remarked  in  parenthesis,  had 
recently  become  Earl  of  Orford,  and  in  the  last  sentence  was 
neatly  intimating  his  own  constancy  to  Miss  Berry. 

When  Miss  Mellon  (afterwards  Mrs.  Coutts,  and  then 
Duchess  of  St.  Albans)  came  to  Drury  Lane  in  1795,  she 
says  that  Miss  Farren  was  then  treated  almost  as  though 
the  aerial  coronet  was  already  on  her  brow.  Lord  Derby 
and  other  theatre-loving  noblemen  assembled  round  her  in 
the  great  green-room,  and  she  was  generally  considered  as 
the  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form.  The  'great 
lady,'  we  are  told,  was  extremely  gracious  to  the  rustic  belle, 
though  little  divining  that  she  also  would  one  day  be  raised 
to  the  peerage.  Lord  Derby,  as  Miss  Mellon's  biographer 
informs  us,  Avas  a  singular-looking  little  man  for  a  lover. 

'  Although  at  the  time  but  forty-five  [he  was  really  only  forty- 
three]  he  looked  fifteen  years  older.  He  had  an  excessively  large 
head  surmounting  his  small  spare  figure,  and  wore  his  hair  tied  in 
a  long,  thin  pigtail.     This,  with  his  attachment  to  short  nankeen 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)    269 

gaiters,  made  him  an  easily  recognised  subject  in  the  numerous 
caricatures  of  the  day.' 

But  although  Miss  Farren  was  the  pre-eminent  comedy 
actress  at  Drury  Lane,  as  well  as  a  person  of  influence  in 
the  fashionable  world  outside,  it  is  interesting  to  note  that 
she  could  not,  as  some  performers  have  since  done,  have 
it  all  her  own  way  with  the  management.  Like  certain 
politicians  of  our  own  time,  those  who  were  managers  in 
those  days  meant  to  manage, — and  they  did  it.  In  179G,  as 
Mrs.  Baron- Wilson  tells  us — 

'  The  performance  of  The  Provoked  Husband  was  announced,  Miss 
Farren  to  take  her  celebrated  character  of  Lady  Townley,  in 
which  her  early  success  had  been  so  great,  that  after  her  first 
appearance  in  it  the  dc'bufa'nte  had  been  engaged  at  both  the  great 
theatres.  From  that  time,  however,  it  would  seem  that  the 
changes  in  the  lady's  fortunes  were  more  rapid  than  the  changes 
in  the  wardrobe  supplied  by  the  management;  and  the  future 
Countess,  on  examining  the  dress  intended  for  her,  refused  to 
wear  it.  Both  parties  were  resolute:  the  managers  denied  her 
a  new  dress,  the  actress  rejected  the  old  one ;  and  the  play  was 
suddenly  advertised  to  be  withdrawn.' 

But  on  the  night  when  the  play  should  have  been  acted 
there  was  a  riot  in  the  theatre,  with  loud  calls  for  Miss 
Farren.  Fortunately  for  her  she  was  not  there ;  and  some 
sort  of  apology  was  made  for  her  absence.  But  green-room 
gossip  quickly  spread  in  those  days,  and  the  habitues  of  the 
pit  probably  Imew  well  enough  all  about  the  dispute.  Any- 
way, they  would  not  be  quiet  until  a  promise  was  made  to 
produce  The  Provoked  Husband  on  an  early  specified  night. 
When  that  night  arrived  the  theatre  was  crowded,  every- 
body being  anxious  to  see  who  had  conquered  in  the  green- 
room. But  Miss  Farren  had  been  unable  to  stand  out 
against  the  management  when  it  was  evidently  backed  up 
by  the  public,  and  she  not  only  appeared  in  the  despised  old 


270  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

satin  dress,  but  was  then  compelled  to  make  an  apologetic 
curtsy  to  the  angry  audience  before  they  would  allow  the 
play  to  go  on. 

At  length,  on  the  15th  of  March  1797,  the  Countess  of 
Derby  died,  after  having  been  separated  from  her  husband 
for  nearly  twenty  years;  and  it  was  almost  immediately 
announced  that  the  earl  was  to  marry  Miss  Farren.  It  was 
arranged  that  she  should  take  formal  leave  of  the  stage  on 
the  8th  of  April,  and  on  that  night  the  public  flocked  in 
such  crowds  to  see  their  old  favourite  for  the  last  time  as 
Lady  Teazle,  that  the  theatre  was  packed  full  long  before 
the  play  began.  It  was  remarked  that  Miss  Farren  had 
never  performed  with  greater  animation  or  better  spirits 
than  on  this  occasion,  until  towards  the  close  of  the  play, 
when  it  became  evident  that  she  was  much  affected.  When 
she  came  to  deliver  Lady  Teazle's  valedictory^  address  to 
Lady  Sneerwell — 

'  Let  me  also  request,  Lady  Sneerwell,  that  you  will  make  my 
respects  to  the  scandalous  college  of  which  you  are  a  member,  and 
inform  them  that  Lady  Teazle,  licentiate,  begs  leave  to  return  the 
diploma  they  granted  her,  as  she  leaves  off  practice,  and  kills 
characters  no  longer,' 

a  faltering  voice,  and,  after  the  utterance  of  the  words 
italicised,  a  passionate  burst  of  tears,  showed  that  the  actress 
was  deeply  moved  by  the  application  of  the  familiar  sentence 
to  her  present  situation.  The  sympathetic  audience  re- 
sponded with  a  thundering  burst  of  applause,  and  no  more 
of  The  School  for  Scandal  was  listened  to  that  night.  The 
conclusion  of  the  scene  is  thus  described,  and  somewhat 
caustically  commented  on,  by  Boaden : — 

'  Instead  of  the  usual  rhymes  at  the  end  of  the  play,  the  whole 
of  the  dramatis  personm  remaining  in  their  stations,  J\lr.  Wroughton 
advanced  and  addressed  to  the  audience  the  following  personalities 
as  to  Miss  Farren,  for  them  to  ratify  if  they  approved  them  : — 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)    271 

''  But  ah  !  this  night  adieu  the  mournful  mien, 
When  Mirth's  loved  favourite  quits  the  mimic  scene  ! 

[Looking  towards  Miss  Farren,  who  stood   supported  by 
King  and  ]\Iiss  Miller] 
Startled  Thalia  would  assent  refuse, 
But  Truth  and  Virtue  sued  and  won  the  Muse." 

I  cannot  but  think  this  too  strongly,  however  truly,  jDut,  the  lady 
being  herself  present.  He  then  spoke  her  acknowledgments, 
which  she  declined  doing  for  herself,  and  then  the  Countess-elect 
advanced,  and  curtsied  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  and  to  the  front,  as 
is  usual  upon  occasions  of  high  stage  ceremonial.' 

By  this  maiTiaCTe,  adds  Boaden,  the  stage  lost  its  only 
woman  of  fashion,  for  the  only  other  eminent  repre- 
sentative of  stylish  females,  Miss  Pope,  had  died  a  few  weeks 
previously.  From  this  date,  according  to  the  same  critic, 
our  comedy  degenerated  into  farce. 

'The  lady  of  our  Congreves  lost  that  court-like  refinement  in 
manners,  that  polished  propriety  in  speech — the  coarser  parts  in 
comedy  were  forced  forward  without  a  balance,  without  contrast — 
cultivated  life,  on  the  stage,  became  insipid  as  soon  as  its  repre- 
sentative was  without  the  necessary  charms  .  .  .  and  broad  laughter 
reigned  triumphant  in  the  unbounded  hilarity  of  Mrs.  Jordan.' 

On  the  6th  of  May,  within  two  months  of  the  first 
countess's  death,  the  Earl  of  Derby  and  Miss  Farren  were 
married.  There  seems  to  have  been  some  disappointment 
in  the  theatre  when  it  was  found  that  the  countess  did  not 
make  presents,  on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage,  to  all  her 
old  associates  of  the  green-room.  Many  of  these  went  about 
telling  stories  of  her  habitual  parsimony,  which — as  gener- 
osity, even  to  lavishness,  has  always  been  a  prominent 
characteristic  of  most  actresses — no  doubt  appeared  to  them 
extremely  reprehensible.  Much  sarcasm  was  vented  when 
inquiries  showed  that  the  only  persons  in  the  theatre  who 
had  received  any  present  on  her  retirement  were  her  dresser, 
who  had  received  nine  shillings,  being   one   week's   extra 


272  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

pay,  and  the  little  call-boy,  who  had  received  a  donation  of 
half-a-cro"svTi.  It  must  be  admitted  that  Miss  Farren  seldom 
gave  anything  away ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  she  always  paid  her  just  debts, — which  some 
of  the  most  generous  of  her  sister  actresses  frequently 
omitted  to  do. 

The  best  description  of  Miss  Farren  extant,  as  well  as  the 
best  account  of  her  powers  as  an  actress,  was  contributed  by 
' an  eminent  critic'  to  the  Monthly  Mirror  in  1797. 

'  Her  figure  [says  this  writer]  is  considerably  above  the  middle 
height,  and  is  of  that  slight  texture  which  allows,  and  requires,  the 
use  of  full  and  flowing  drapery,  an  advantage  of  which  she  well 
knows  how  to  avail  herself;  her  face,  though  not  regularly 
beautiful,  is  animated  and  prepossessing;  her  eye,  which  is  blue 
and  penetrating,  is  a  powerful  feature  when  she  chooses  to  employ 
it  on  the  public,  and  either  flashes  with  spirit  or  melts  with  soft- 
ness, as  its  mistress  decides  on  the  expression  she  wishes  to 
convey ;  her  voice  we  never  thought  to  possess  much  sweetness, 
but  it  is  refined  and  feminine ;  and  her  smiles,  of  which  she  is  no 
niggard,  fascinate  the  heart  as  much  as  her  form  delights  the  eye.' 

She  was  not  faultless ;  but  her  merits  were  transcendent, 
her  failings  comparatively  trivial.  Her  chief  failure  was 
in  her  sentiment,  which  this  writer  holds  to  have  been  as 
artificial,  formal,  and  affected,  as  her  comedy  was  easy  and 
natural, — though  he  is  bound  to  admit  that  her  serious  were 
no  less  popular  with  the  public  than  her  sportive  perform- 
ances. But  in  the  path  of  elegant  comedy  she  had  no 
superior  ;  '  and  if  we  are  to  depend  on  the  scanty  records  of 
the  British  stage,  it  will  be  difficult  to  say  whether  she  ever 
had  an  equal'  He  places  her  above  Mrs.  Abington  (as  also 
did  Horace  Walpole),  and  on  a  level  with  Mrs.  Oldfield,  so 
far  as  we  can  gather  what  that  lady  was  like  from  the 
account  ot  CoUey  Gibber. 

'She  possesses  ease,  vivacity,  spirit,  and  hiamour:  and  her 
performances  are  so  little  injured  by  eflfort  that  we  have  often 


ELIZABETH  FARREN  (COUNTESS  OF  DERBY)    273 

experienced  a  delusion  of  the  senses,  and  imagined,  what  in  the 
theatre  it  is  so  difficult  to  imagine,  the  scene  of  action  to  he  identified, 
and  Miss  Farren  really  the  character  which  she  was  only  attempt- 
ing to  sustain.' 

He  does  not  believe,  he  says,  that  St.  James's  ever  dis- 
played superior  evidence  of  fine  breeding  than  Miss  Farren 
has  often  done  in  her  own  person,  and  he  shrewdly  suspects 
that '  she  will  carry  more  of  polished  life  into  the  drawing- 
room,  than  many  ladies  of  quality,  after  an  attendance  of 
many  years,  have  made  shift  to  bring  out  of  it.'  His  belief 
appears  to  have  been  fully  justified.  When  presented  at 
Court  soon  after  her  marriage.  Lady  Derby  was  noticed  with 
special  regard  by  the  precise  and  fastidious  Queen  Charlotte, 
who  allowed  her  to  take  a  place  in  the  marriage  procession 
of  the  Princess  Royal.  And  the  strolling-player's  child,  who 
had  passed  twenty-three  of  her  years  on  the  stage,  remained 
for  thirty- two  years  more  no  inconspicuous  ornament  to  the 
aristocratic  society  into  which  she  had  married. 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA') 

The  beautiful  pictures  of  Mrs.  Robinson  by  Reynolds  and 
Romney,  and  the  intimate  association  of  her  name  with  the 
Shakespearean  character  in  which  she  was  most  popular, — 
that  of  Perdita,  the  charming  '  queen  of  curds  and  cream '  of 
The  Winters  Tale, — together  with  a  vague  remembrance  that 
she  was  cheated  and  deserted  by  that  very  unShakespearean 
and  unchivalrous  Prince  Florizel  who  afterwards  became 
George  iv.,  have  invested  her  memory  with  a  halo  of 
romance,  which  unfortunately  becomes  considerably  dis- 
sipated after  a  calm  and  dispassionate  scrutiny.  The  present 
writer  has  discovered  nothing  in  this  connection  (or  for  that 
matter  in  any  other)  to  induce  him  to  bear  a  hand  in  the 
recent  endeavour  to  whitewash  the  character  of  that  Brum- 
magem '  Florizel '  who  prided  himself  on  being  '  the  first 
gentleman  in  Europe ' ;  but  he  has  nevertheless  been  forced 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  modern  '  Perdita '  was  by  no  means 
the  sweet  little  innocent  poetical  thing  which  she  and  some 
of  her  admirers  have  pictured  for  our  admiration  and  pity.  In 
the  last  year  of  her  life  she  wrote  an  autobiography  (stopping 
short,  however,  at  the  date  of  her  liaison  with  the  Prince  of 
Wales),  which,  on  her  death-bed,  she  exacted  from  her 
daughter  a  solemn  promise  to  publish;  and  which  duly 
appeared,  with  a  continuation  by  that  daughter,  in  1801. 
This  Memoir  was  reprinted  some  ten  or  twelve  years  ago, 
under  the  editorship  of  Mr.  J.  Fitzgerald  MoUoy,  whose 
Introduction  and  notes  give  no  hint  that  any  part  of  the 
narrative  needs  to  be  taken  ciim  grano  salis.     In  fact,  it  has 

•271 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  275 

been  generally  accepted  as  carrying  on  the  face  of  it,  as 
Huish  declared  in  his  Mertioirs  of  George  IV.,  '  indubitable 
evidence  of  its  veracity.'  But,  apart  from  the  fact  that  a 
considerable  discount  would  need  to  be  made  from  any  e^j 
parte  statement  made  by  a  woman  pleading  at  the  bar  of 
public  opinion  in  defence  of  her  own  reputation,  the  narrative 
contains  so  many  contradictions  and  improbabilities,  and 
gives  a  representation  of  the  writer's  conduct  and  character 
so  irreconcileable  with  what  is  otherwise  known  and  reported 
of  her,  that  we  may  well  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  that 
Mrs.  Robinson,  who  had  by  this  time  become  a  practised 
novelist,  presented  the  world  with  an  autobiography  which, 
to  a  ver}'-  large  extent,  was  a  work  of  fiction.  In  spite  of 
contradictions  and  discrepancies,  however,  some  of  which 
will  be  evident  enough  as  we  proceed,  we  must,  in  the  main, 
in  the  absence  of  any  better  authority,  depend  on  her  own 
version  of  her  story. 

The  shepherdess  Perdita  in  the  play  turns  out  to  be  a 
princess  in  disguise.  Mrs.  Perdita  Robinson  did  not  go  so  far 
as  that;  but  she  claimed  to  be  related  to  Benjamin  Franklin, 
on  her  father's  side,  and  to  be  a  collateral  descendant  of 
the  illustrious  John  Locke,  on  the  side  of  her  mother.  Her 
father,  she  tells  us,  came  of  a  respectable  family  in  Ireland, 
the  original  name  of  which  was  MacDermot, — a  name  which, 
on  getting  an  additional  estate,  her  grandfather  changed  to 
Darby.  Her  mother  was  the  grandchild  of  Catherine  Seys, 
one  of  the  daughters  and  co-heirs  of  Richard  Seys,  Esq. 
of  Boverton  Castle  in  Glamorganshire.  Physically,  intel- 
lectually, and  morally,  we  are  given  to  understand,  her 
family  was  an  exceptionally  fine  one.  Her  grandmother  and 
great-grandmother  were  specially  noteworthy  for  their  great 
piety,  virtue,  and  benevolence.  Her  grandmother  was  also 
remarkably  handsome  ;  and  her  mother,  although  not  hand- 
some, had  a  peculiarly  neat  figure  and  a  vivacity  of  manner 


276  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

which  gained  her  many  suitors.  It  would  probably  have 
been  better  for  her  if  she  had  chosen  any  one  of  the  crowd 
in  preference  to  Mr.  Darby.  At  first,  however,  all  went  as 
merry  as  the  marriage  bell.  Mr.  Darby  prospered  exceed- 
ingly as  captain  of  a  Bristol  whaler,  and  brought  up  his 
young  family  in  luxury  and  happiness.  Mary  was  born  in 
Avhat  she,  perhaps  too  magniloquently,  describes  as  a 
'  venerable  mansion,'  adjoining  the  cathedral  church  in 
Bristol.  She  informs  the  reader,  rather  in  the  style  of 
Shakespeare's  Owen  Glendower,  that — 

'in  this  awe-inspiring  habitation,  which  I  shall  henceforth  de- 
nominate the  Minster  House,  during  a  tempestuous  night,  on  the 
27th  of  November  1758,  I  first  opened  my  eyes  to  this  world  of 
duplicity  and  sorrow.  I  have  often  heard  my  mother  say  that  a 
more  stormy  hour  she  never  remembered.  The  wind  whistled 
round  the  dark  pinnacles  of  the  minster  tower,  and  the  rain  beat 
in  torrents  against  the  casements  of  her  chamber.  Through  life 
the  tempest  has  followed  my  footsteps,  and  I  have  in  vain  looked 
for  a  short  interval  of  repose  from  the  perseverance  of  sorrow.' 

Her  brothers  and  sisters  were  uncommonly  handsome  in 
their  infancy;  but  she  was  swarthy,  with  a  small  round 
face,  disproportionately  large  eyes,  and  a  melancholy  ex- 
pression. That  expression  correctly  indicated  her  tempera- 
ment ;  for,  as  soon  as  she  could  read,  her  greatest  delight 
was  to  learn  the  epitaphs  and  monumental  inscriptions  in 
the  churchyard ;  and  before  she  was  seven  she  could  repeat 
Pope's  '  Lines  to  the  Memory  of  an  Unfortunate  Lady,' 
Mason's  '  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  the  beautiful  Countess  of 
Coventry,'  and  other  poems  of  an  equally  exhilarating  char- 
acter ;  while  the  only  melodies  that  ever  pleased  her  were 
those  of  a  mournful  kind.  She  was  sent  to  the  school  kept 
by  Hannah  More's  sisters ;  where,  amongst  her  school- 
fellows were  two  daughters  of  Powell  the  actor,  and  the 
young  lady  Avho  afterwards  became  Mrs.  John  Kemble. 
When  she  was  about  seven  years  of  age,  her  father  set  out 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  277 

for  America,  with  the  intention  of  staying  there  two  years, 
while  he  established  a  Whale  Fishery  on  the  coast  of  Labra- 
dor, a  project  which  included  the  civilising  of  the  Esquimaux 
and  the  employment  of  a  large  number  of  them.     Darby 
left  his  wife  and  children  handsomely  housed  and  provided 
for  in  Bristol ;  but,  as  his  daughter  puts  it,  he  became  '  the 
slave  of  a  young  and  artful  woman  who  had  availed  herself 
of  his  American  solitude  to  undermine  his  affections  for  his 
wife   and   the  felicity   of  his   family.'     Other   misfortunes 
followed.      The   Indians   rose   in  a   body,  burned   Darby's 
settlement,  killed  some  of  his  people,  and  threw  his  pro- 
duce into  the  sea.     Then  he  had  other  losses,  which  induced 
him  to  give  a  bill  of  sale  on  the  whole  of  his  property  in 
England,   with   the   result  that  before   long   his  wife   and 
children  were  turned  out  of  house  and  home.     Then,  after 
three  years'  absence,  he  suddenly  appeared  in  England,  and 
wrote   requiring   his   wife    and   children   to   meet   him   in 
London.     They  went ;  and  were  told  that  he  had  determined 
to  place  Mary  and  her  brother  at  a  school  in  Chelsea,  that 
he  should  return  almost  immediately  to  America,  and  that 
he  would  arrange  to  pay  for  his  wife's  board  in  any  respect- 
able family  she  might  choose  to  live  with  in  London.     Mrs. 
Darby  had  to  be  content   to   take  up  her   quarters  in  a 
clergyman's  house  in  the  neighbourhood,  while  Mary  was 
sent  to  a  school  kept  by  a  lady  with  the  awe-inspiring  name 
of  Meribah  Larrington ;  a  most  accomplished  female,  we  are 
told,  whose  father  had  given  her  a  'masculine  education.' 
Mrs.  Robinson  assures  us  that  her  schoolmistress  was  not 
only  a  good  Latin,  French,  and  Italian  scholar,  but  '  a  per- 
fect arithmetician  and  astronomer,'  who  also  possessed  the 
art  of  painting  on  silk  to  a  degree  of  exquisite  perfection. 
But— an  indispensable  part  of  an  eighteenth-century  mascu- 
line education,  we  must  remember — she  drank  !     However, 
when  not  intoxicated,  she  instructed  Mary    who  was  her 


278  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

favourite  pupil,  not  only  in  the  aforementioned  accomplish- 
ments, but  also  in  domestic  economy.  Unfortunately,  the 
father  who  had  given  Mrs.  Larrington  so  curious  an  education 
lived  on  the  premises ;  for,  not  only  was  he,  we  are  informed, 
of  the  Anabaptist  persuasion,  and  so  stern  in  his  conversa- 
tion that  the  pupils  lived  in  perpetual  terror  of  him ;  but 
notwithstanding  a  highly  picturesque  appearance,  including 
a  silvery  beard,  which  reached  to  his  breast,  and  a  kind  of 
Persian  robe,  which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  necro- 
mancer, his  manners  were  '  singularly  disgusting.'  Mary 
stayed  fourteen  months  at  this  school,  going  to  the  clergy- 
man's on  Sundays  to  take  tea  with  her  mother ;  and  on 
one  such  occasion,  in  her  fourteenth  year,  she  received  an 
offer  of  marriage  from  a  naval  officer  who  had  known  her 
father,  and  who  took  her  to  be  of  the  quite  mature  age  of 
sixteen.  When  '  pecuniary  derangements '  forced  Mrs.  Lar- 
rington to  give  up  school,  Mary  was  removed  to  a  boarding- 
school  at  Battersea, — then  au  outlying  country  village ;  but 
after  several  months  had  passed  without  any  remittance 
from  America,  Mrs.  Darby  opened  a  ladies'  boarding-school 
in  Chelsea  on  her  own  account,  and  took  her  daughter  from 
Battersea  to  assist  her.  Eight  months  later,  Mr.  Darby 
paid  another  flying  visit  to  England,  broke  up  his  wife's 
school,  which  he  considered  a  public  disgrace  to  his  name, 
placed  Mary  at  a  'finishing  school'  at  Marylebone,  and 
(presumably)  established  Mrs.  Darby  in  another  clergyman's 
family  in  that  neighbourhood.  Before  leaving  for  America 
again  he  is  reported  to  have  said  to  his  Avife :  '  Take  care 
that  no  dishonour  falls  upon  my  daughter.  If  she  is  not 
safe  at  my  return,  I  will  annihilate  you  ! '  There  never  was 
such  a  father,  out  of  a  transpontine  melodrama. 

Mary  had  now  reached  the  age  of  fifteen,  and  felt  sure  she 
might  attain  fame  and  fortune  on  the  stage.  The  dancing- 
master  at  her  school  happened  to  be  also  ballet-master  at 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  279 

Covent  Garden  Theatre,  and  through  him  she  was  intro- 
duced to  Hull,  the  deputy-manager,  who  was  so  pleased 
Avith  her  recitation  that  he  procured  her  introductions  to 
Murphy  and  to  Garrick.  The  latter  was  so  taken  with  her 
that  he  arranged  for  her  to  play  Cordelia  to  his  own  Lear ; 
encouraged  her  to  frequent  the  theatre  as  much  as  possible  in 
the  meantime,  and  personally  superintended  her  rehearsals. 
Then  she  attracted  notice  of  another  kind.  A  strange  officer 
followed  her  continually  to  and  from  the  theatre,  and,  after 
a  while,  wrote  to  her  mother,  avowing  himself  the  son  of 

Lady ,   and   offering   the   young   lady  marriage.      The 

mother  had  all  but  consented  to  what  seemed  so  desirable 
a  match,  when  some  friend  informed  her  that  the  lover 
was  already  married  to  a  lady  whom  he  had  left  in  Ire- 
land. Then  there  came  another  offer  of  marriage,  from  a 
man  of  splendid  fortune ;  but  as  he  happened  to  be  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandfather,  she  not  unnaturally  dechned 
the  honour.  At  length  an  apparently  eligible  young  man 
appeared  on  the  scene.  Opposite  to  the  house  in  which 
Mrs.  Darby  lived  was  the  office  of  an  eminent  firm  of  solici- 
tors; and  the  young  lady  frequently  found  one  of  their 
articled  clerks  observing  her  from  his  windows  '  with  evi- 
dent emotion.'  The  name  of  this  young  man  was  Robinson ; 
and  he  very  soon  contrived  to  obtain  an  introduction  from 
a  friend,  who  expatiated  on  his  good  qualities,  his  expecta- 
tions both  from  his  profession  and  from  a  rich  old  uncle, 
and  his  enthusiastic  admiration  for  Miss  Darby.  Robinson 
paid  court  to  the  mother  by  presenting  her  with  elegantly- 
bound  copies  of  Hervey's  Meditations  Among  the  Tombs, 
and  similar  lugubrious  works,  of  which  he  found  she  was 
fond ;  and  is  said  to  have  made  more  progress  in  her  affec- 
tions than  in  those  of  her  daughter.  After  a  short  court- 
ship it  was  arranged  that  the  young  people  should  be 
married  at  once,  Robinson  to  live  for  a  time  at  the  house  of 


280  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

his  mother-in-law,  and  the  marriage  to  be  kept  a  secret 
until  he  had  completed  his  articles  and  attained  his  majority. 
Mrs.  Robinson  labours  to  show  that  this  was  no  marriage  of 
atiection  on  her  part.  She  was  too  young,  she  says :  only 
three  months  before  she  became  a  wife  she  had  dressed  a 
doll;  she  still  wore  a  child's  frocks,  and  even  two  years 
after  her  marriage  was  so  juvenile  that  she  was  always 
accosted  as  '  Miss '  by  strangers  or  in  the  shops.  She  would 
far  rather  have  gone  on  the  stage ;  but  she  yielded,  she  de-  ' 
clares,  to  her  mother's  entreaties,  who  was  haunted  by  her 
husband's  threat  of  annihilation,  and  feared  the  results  of 
a  theatrical  career.  Mrs.  Robinson  and  her  mother  removed 
to  a  large  old-fashioned  house  in  Great  Queen  Street,  but 
after  a  short  honeymoon  Robinson  returned  to  his  chambers. 
After  a  time  Mrs.  Darby  became  suspicious.  She  then 
discovered  that  Robinson  was  not  the  son  and  heir,  but  the 
illegitimate  son,  of  the  rich  old  gentleman  from  whom  he 
said  he  had  expectations.  She  therefore  insisted  on  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  marriage ;  and,  after  some  pressure, 
Robinson  agreed  to  take  them  both  to  the  home  of  his 
uncle  in  Wales. 

Throughout  her  autobiography  Mrs.  Robinson  protests  a 
srood  deal.  We  are  told  that  the  world  has  mistaken  the 
character  of  her  mind.  '  I  have  ever  been  the  reverse  of 
volatile  and  dissipated,'  she  declares ;  and  in  this  early  part 
of  her  married  life  she  assures  us  that  her  favourite  occupa- 
tion was  to  visit  Westminster  Abbey,  in  company  with  a 
like-minded  friend,  to  meditate  among  the  tombs.  More- 
over— 

'  I  had  now  been  married  four  months ;  and  though  love  was  not 
the  basis  of  my  fidelity,  honour  and  a  refined  sense  of  feminine 
rectitude  attached  me  to  the  interest  as  well  as  to  the  person  of 
my  husband.  I  considered  chastity  as  the  brightest  ornament 
that  could  embellish  the  female  mind.' 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  281 

Mrs.  Robinson,  when  writing  all  this  at  the  age  of  forty- 
three,  and  after  a  considerable  practical  experience  of  the 
contrary,  may  possibly  have  been  impressed  by  the  theo- 
retical  soundness   of  some   of  her   copy-book  maxims   of 
morality ;  but  Mrs.  Robinson,  in  her  seventeenth  year,  was 
evidently  much   more  given   to   thinking  what  were   the 
brightest  ornaments  of  the  female  body.     In  fact,  to  the 
last,  she  seems  to  have  been  able  to  remember  what  she 
wore  on  every  occasion  in  her  whole  life.     When  she  first 
met  Robinson  at  Greenwich,  she  tells  us, '  It  was  then  the 
fashion  to  wear  silks.     I  remember   that  I  wore  a  night 
gown  of  pale  blue  lustring,  with  a  chip  hat  trimmed  with 
ribands  of  the  same  colour.     Never  was  I  dressed  so  per- 
fectly to  my  own  satisfaction.'     And  when  Robinson  intro- 
duced her  to  his  father,  or  his  uncle,  or  whoever  Mr.  Harris 
was,  she  was  evidently  thinking  much  less  about  her  morals 
and  mental  accomplishments  than  about   '  a  dark  claret- 
coloured  riding-habit,  with  a  white  beaver  hat  and  feathers.' 
And  she  wishes  us  to  understand  that  such  tasteful  trap- 
pings were  not  without  their  effect,  for,  she  says,  the  old 
gentleman  embraced  her  with  excessive  cordiality,  and  even 
declared  that  if  she  had  not  already  married  Tom,  he  would 
have  liked  her  as  a  wife  for  himself.     But  although  Mr. 
Harris  was  himself  so  cordial,  there  was  a  daughter,  named 
Betsy,  and  a  housekeeper,  named  Molly,    who   were   cold 
from  the  first,  and  before  she   left,  even  insolent.      Miss 
Harris,  it   appears,   rode  on   horseback  in   a  camlet  safe- 
guard,  with   a  high-crowned  bonnet ;   whereas,   '  I  wore  a 
fashionable  habit,  and  looked  like  something  human.'     Per- 
haps she  made  comparisons,  which  that  copy-book  of  hers 
might  have  reminded  her  were  odious.     At  any  rate,  both 
Betsy  and  Molly  said  a  lawyer's  wife  had  no  right  to  dress 
like  a  duchess.      It    may  be  that  they  knew  more   than 
she  yet  did  about  Tom's  income  and  expectations.      She 


282  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

evidently  did  not  discover  what  was  her  husband's  real 
relationship  to  Mr.  Harris ;  and  the  old  gentleman,  though 
he  talked  very  pleasantly,  gave  them  no  money.  Never- 
theless, immediately  after  their  return  to  London,  they  took 
a  recently-built  house  in  Hatton  Garden,  furnished  it  with 
'  peculiar  elegance,'  set  up  a  phaeton  and  saddle  horses,  and 
Mary  made  her  debut,  as  she  phrases  it,  '  in  the  broad 
hemisphere  of  fashionable  folly.'  We  now  hear  no  more 
about  Westminster  Abbey  and  meditations  among  the 
tombs:  it  is  all  Ranelagh,  Vauxhall,  and  the  Pantheon. 
And  from  time  to  time  she  favours  us  with  particulars  of 
her  costumes  of  '  peculiar  but  simple  elegance.' 

'  The  first  time  I  went  to  Ranelagh  [she  writes]  my  habit  was 
so  singularly  plain  and  Quaker-like  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
me.  I  wore  a  gown  of  light  brown  lustring  with  close  round  cuff's 
(it  was  then  the  fashion  to  wear  long  ruffles) ;  my  hair  was  with- 
out powder,  and  my  head  adorned  with  a  plain  round  cap  and  a 
white  chip  hat,  without  any  ornaments  whatever.' 

Another  place  of  polite  entertainment  to  which  her  hus- 
band took  her  was  the  Pantheon,  where  the  gay  and  the 
fashionable  congregated  to  admire  and  be  admired.  Large 
hoops  and  high  feathers  were  then  worn ;  and  we  may  pre- 
sume that  she  wore  these  aids  to  beauty,  as  well  as  a  habit  of 
pale  pink  satin,  trimmed  with  broad  sable,  and  a  suit  of  rich 
and  valuable  point  lace,  which  had  been  a  birthday  gift  from 
her  father  to  her  mother.  Amongst  all  the  beautiful  women 
there,  she  thought  the  loveliest  form  to  be  that  of  Lady 
Almeira  Carpenter,  and  the  most  pleasing  countenance  that 
of  Mrs.  Baddeley,  though  the  Marchioness  Townshend  created 
the  greatest  buzz  of  admiration  as  she  moved  about  the 
room.  But  even  amongst  such  competitors  as  these,  she 
very  soon  heard  people  on  every  side  asking, '  A¥ho  is  the 
young  lady  in  the  pink  dress  trimmed  with  sable  ? '  Accord- 
ing to  her  account  (though  there  is  another  version,  as  we 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  283 

shall  see  later  on),  Lord  Northington,  son  of  the  late  Chan- 
cellor (whom  she  claims  for  a  godfather),  came  up  to  her 
and  made  himself  known.  He  then  introduced  a  number 
of  his  friends,  including  such  rakes  as  Lord  Lyttelton, — who, 
before  his  tragic  death  at  the  early  age  of  thirty- five,  had 
well  earned  the  title  of '  the  wicked  Lord  Lyttelton,' — and 
Captain  Ayscough,  a  parasite  of  Lyttelton's,  and  one  of  the 
most  conspicuous  '  fools  of  fashion.'  Lyttelton  at  once  began 
to  cultivate  Robinson's  society  with  the  view  of  undermining 
the  honour  of  his  wife.  His  method,  she  tells  us,  was  to 
present  her  with  Mrs.  Barbauld's  poems  and  similar  moral 
productions,  while  at  the  same  time  he  enticed  her  husband 
into  all  sorts  of  profligacy,  and  involved  him  in  hopeless 
debt.  Lyttelton,  Ayscough, '  Fighting '  Fitzgerald,  and  other 
rakes  about  town,  made  improper  advances  to  her ;  but  she 
succeeded,  she  assures  us,  in  repulsing  them  all.  Fitzgerald, 
however,  once  nearly  succeeded  in  carrying  her  off  in  a 
coach-and-four,  when  he  was  provided  with  armed  servants, 
and  pistols  in  the  carriage  in  case  of  pursuit ;  and  Lyttelton 
settled  down  to  the  slower,  but,  as  he  thought,  surer  method 
of  completing  the  husband's  ruin  by  drawing  him  into  further 
expensive  pleasures,  luring  him  on  with  hopes  of  some  lucra- 
tive post  which  should  be  obtained  for  him. 

The  reader  is  apt  to  ask,  Where  did  the  money  come  from 
to  pay  for  all  this  splendour  and  riotous  living  ?  Mrs. 
Robinson  says  that  she  frequently  inquired  into  the  extent 
of  her  husband's  finances,  and  that  he  as  often  assured  her 
that  they  were  in  every  respect  competent  to  his  expenses. 
She  observed  that  he  had  frequent  visitors  of  the  Jewish 
tribe,  with  whom  he  was  often  closeted ;  but  when  she  ques- 
tioned him  about  this,  he  told  her  these  persons  came  upon 
law  business,  and  requested  her  not  to  meddle  with  his  pro- 
fessional occupations.  Seeing  that  in  another  place  she 
distinctly  informs  us  that  Robinson  could  not  practise  as  a 


284  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

solicitor,  because  he  had  never  completed  his  articles,  one 
would  like  to  know  Avhat  his  professional  occupations  were. 
And  perhaps  we  may  accept  an  account  which  comes  from 
another  source.  A  few  years  later,  Mrs.  Robinson  was  the 
subject  of  numerous  pamphlets  and  newspaper  paragraphs. 
Some  of  these  were  mere  catchpenny  publications,  such  as 
the  poetical  epistles  from  Florizel  to  Perdita,  or  the  pre- 
tended copies  of  the  letters  which  passed  between  Mrs. 
Robinson  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  under  these  signatures ; 
some  merely  scandalous  pieces  of  ribaldry,  written  without 
any  real  knowledge,  and  appealing  only  to  the  pruriency 
of  the  public.  But  in  1781,  when  she  was  in  her  altitude, 
and  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  figures  in  Bond  Street  or 
the  Park,  there  appeared  a  quarto  volume  of  forty-three 
pages,  published  at  two  shillings,  which  purports  to  contain 
copies  of  real  letters  which  passed  between  Mrs.  Robinson 
and  '  a  certain  Israelite,'  between  the  21st  September  and 
the  30th  November  1773.  These  letters  of  hers  are  all 
dated  from  Bristol,  and  addressed  to  the  young  Jew  in 
London.  In  one  of  them,  dated  the  9th  of  November,  she 
says  that  on  the  previous  Tuesday  Mr.  Robinson  set  out  for 
Carmarthenshire,  where  he  intends  staying  a  week,  and  that 
he  intends  sending  for  her  to  stay  a  few  days  there.  All 
this,  if  only  these  letters  bore  the  date  of  1774  instead  of 
1773,  would  well  fit  in  with  her  own  account  of  her  visit  to 
Mr.  Harris  in  Carmarthenshire,  when,  as  she  tells  us,  her 
mother  and  herself  were  left  at  Bristol  while  Robinson  went 
on  first  to  pave  the  way  for  her  reception.  And  as  ladies 
have  never  been  famous  for  putting  any  year  of  our  era  on 
their  letters,  it  is  certainly  no  very  extravagant  supposition 
to  make  that  she  never  put  on  these  more  than  the  day  of 
the  month,  and  that  their  editor  predated  them  by  one 
year.  At  any  rate,  the  said  editor  shows  in  his  scathing 
'  Introduction '  that  he  knew  a  great  deal  more  about  both 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  285 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robinson's  family  and  alikirs  than  was  likely 
to  be  known  by  any  mere  stranger.  Briefly  summarised, 
his  account  of  them  is  as  follows.  Robinson,  while  a  clerk 
to  Vernon  and  Elderton,  attorneys,  represented  himself  to 
the  Darbys  as  the  nephew  of  Mr.  Harris  of  Carmarthenshire, 
'  a  gentleman  of  £30,000,'  to  whom  he  was  sole  heir,  and  who 
at  the  moment  allowed  him  £500  a  year.  The  young  lady, 
as  well  as  her  mother,  jumped  at  the  match;  but,  after  the 
marriage,  discovered  that  he  was  the  illegitimate  son  of  a 
laundress  and  a  tailor  of  York  Buildings.  However,  as  there 
was  then  no  help  for  it,  the  young  woman  thought  the  way 
to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain  was  to  set  her  wits  to  work 
in  helping  her  husband  to  'jew'  the  Jews.  Of  course,  in 
order  to  do  this  to  the  best  advantage,  it  would  be  well  to 
keep  up  the  story  of  the  rich  uncle  in  Wales ;  and  in  this 
case  we  have  to  take  the  whole  account  of  Mr.  Harris  and 
his  household  in  the  autobiography  as  so  much  fiction. 
They  somehow  managed,  we  are  told,  to  borrow  £1000  from 
a  money-lender  on  a  bill  of  sale  and  the  security  of  his 
manufactured  reversionary  interests;  and  it  was  her  in- 
genuity which  devised  the  stratagems  and  deceptions  by 
which  tradesmen  were  induced  to  furnish  the  handsome 
house  in  Hatton  Garden — and  so  unwittingly  provide  them 
with  fresh  security  on  which  to  borrow  more  money.  Robin- 
son then  assumed  the  character  of  a  merchant ;  and,  in  con- 
junction with  a  dreadful  set  of  colleagues,  found  means  to 
obtain  large  quantities  of  goods  on  credit  on  the  strength 
of  foreign  letters  which  their  confederates  transmitted  to 
them  from  Holland,  Ostend,  and  France.  The  account 
which  we  get  from  this  source  of  the  intimacy  with  Lords 
Northington  and  Lyttelton  differs  materially  from  hers. 

'At  every  fashionable  place  of  resort  they  appeared  as  brilliant 
as  any  in  the  circle ;  the  extravagance  of  the  diversions  was  no 
check  to  their  vanity.     At  a  masquerade  one  evening,  she  was 


286  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

noticed  by  Lord  Lyttleton,  Lord  Valencia,  and  Lord  Northington. 
Her  pride  was  highly  gratified  to  be  distinguished  by  three  such 
fashionable  noblemen ;  and  that  an  acquaintance  so  fortunately 
begun  should  not  be  lost,  she  wrote  the  following  note  to  each 
gentleman  the  next  day  :  "  My  Lord, — A  Lady  in  the  character 
of  an  orange-girl  that  had  the  honour  of  being  distinguished  by 

your  Lordship  last  night  at  the  masquerade,  was  a  Mrs.  R ,  of 

Hatton  Garden,  who  will  esteem  herself  further  honoured  if  your 
Lordship  should  condescend  to  favour  her  with  a  visit."  On  this 
singular  invitation  the  gentlemen  came,  and  paid  their  respective 
addresses  to  her ;  but  it  was  the  intrepid,  persevering  Lord  Lyttle- 
ton that  most  succeeded;  it  was  the  splendour  of  his  equipage 
that  seduced  her  vain  heart,  till  at  length  his  familiarity  with  her 
became  the  topic  of  the  whole  town.  They  were  continually 
together  at  every  place  of  amusement ;  and  the  husband  trudged 
after  them,  as  stupid  and  as  tranquil  as  any  brute  of  the  cornuted 
creation.' 

After  a  short  time,  it  was  whispered  in  Lord  Lyttelton's 
ear  that  his  new  associate,  instead  of  being  the  son  of  a 
gentleman  of  fortune,  was  only  the  progeny  of  a  tailor,  and, 
either  not  liking  the  association,  or  not  caring  to  be  bled  so 
profusely  any  longer,  he  suddenly  dropped  them,  having 
paid  dearly  enough  for  his  short  acquaintance.  The  Robin- 
sons then  took  refuge  in  the  Fleet ;  and  on  their  liberation 
fifteen  months  later  by  an  Insolvent  Act,  they  subsisted  by 
his  borrowing  money  whenever  he  could  from  his  wife's 
admirers. 

The  letters  which  follow  after  this  unflattering  biography 
are  by  no  means  of  a  romantic  character.  In  a  postscript 
to  the  Israelite's  answer  to  her  epistle  of  7th  October,  he  says, 
without  comment  or  explanation,  that  he  encloses  £50.  A 
week  later,  she  writes  to  him :  '  How  can  I  love  that  stupid 

thing,  R ?    Yet  I  am  his,  Fortune  has  made  it  so ;  but  I 

cannot  think  I  am  bound  to  abide  strictly  by  an  engagement 
that  I  was  trepanned  into.'  A  postscript  to  her  letter  of  23rd 
October  says :  '  As  I  am  rather  short,  the  sooner  you  oblige 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  287 

me  the  greater  the  favour.'  On  1st  November,  he  concludes 
a  long  letter  Avith  the  words :  '  You  little  prodigal !  You 
have  spent  £200  in  six  weeks,  I  will  not  answer  your  drafts,' 
On  November  9,  she  writes :  '  Since  I  wrote  my  last  letter, 

I  received  one  from  my  dear  Mr.  R [whom  she  has 

already  reported  to  be  in  Wales]  wherein  he  desires  me  to 
inform  you  that  if  you  please  to  answer  my  drafts,  he  shall 
not  want  his  till  he  returns  to  London ;  the  money,  I  can 
assure  you,  is  for  me,'  But  the  young  Israelite  was  getting 
tired  of  it;  for  on  23rd  November  she  writes: — 

'  I  find  you  have  not  yet  answered  my  draft.  I  do  not  wish 
an  acquaintance  with  any  man  who  professes  so  much  love,  but 
who  gives  so  little  proof  of  it.  I  wish  I  could  recall  those  im- 
prudent moments  when  I  suffered  your  deluding  promises  and 
seductive  tongue  to  betray  me  into  sin ;  but  unless  you  give  me 
the  token  of  your  sincerity  that  I  ask  for,  I  shall  take  care  how 
I  trust  you  again,  I  am  astonished  that  you  should  scruple  to 
lend  me  such  a  sum  as  <£100  when  it  was  the  last  I  should  borrow, 
and  should  have  repaid  it  faithfully.  Now  you  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  your  love,  or  I  shall  see  that  you  have  all  along 
deceived  me.' 

To  which  the  answer  is  a  long  letter  on  the  evils  of 
avarice ;  and  the  correspondence  ends.  There  is  no  positive 
proof  of  the  authenticity  of  these  letters.  But  Mrs. 
Robinson  herself  admits  in  her  autobiography  that  Avhile 
waitinof  at  Bristol  for  her  husband  to  send  for  her  from 
Wales,  she,  at  his  request,  wrote  to  a  money-lender  in 
Goodman's  Fields,  whom  she  knew,  for  a  sum  of  money  that 
would  be  necessary  for  the  journey ;  adding  inconsistently 
— '  I  was  an  entire  stranger  to  the  transaction  which 
rendered  him  the  temporary  source  of  my  husband's 
finances.'  The  letters  themselves  are  by  no  means  incon- 
sistent with  what  we  can  gather  of  Mrs.  Robinson's  char- 
acter and  conduct  from  sources  less  suspicious,  perhaps, 
than  her  own  autobiography.     They  afford,  in  conjunction 


288  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

with  what  was  probably  the  young  Israelite's  own  '  Intro- 
duction '  thereto,  the  only  explanation  that  has  ever  been 
offered  of  how  this  young  lawyer's  clerk  and  his  beautiful 
but  penniless  wife  obtained  the  money  for  their  handsome 
house,  furnished  with  '  peculiar  elegance,'  for  their  carriage 
and  saddle  horses,  for  Ranelagh,  Vauxhall,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.     And  they  were  never  disavowed  or  contradicted. 

Mrs.  Robinson's  own  account  of  the  collapse  of  the 
Hatton  Garden  establishment  contains  a  number  of  other 
particulars,  and  endeavours  to  throw  all  the  responsibility 
for  it  on  to  the  shoulders  of  her  husband  by  the  assertion  that 
he  had,  previous  to  their  union,  deeply  involved  himself  in 
a  bond  debt  of  considerable  magnitude.  She  tells  us  that 
they  had  an  execution  in  the  house;  and  that,  after 
remaining  for  a  short  time  at  Finchley,  in  a  house  kindly 
lent  them  by  a  friend,  Robinson,  in  fear  of  arrest  if  he 
stayed  any  longer  near  London,  carried  her  off  on  another 
visit  to  his  '  uncle '  in  Wales.  The  second  visit  is  repre- 
sented as  b}'-  no  means  so  successful  as  the  first.  Not  only 
did  Miss  Harris  scarcely  bid  them  welcome,  and  Molly 
exhibit  her  insulting  displeasure;  but  even  Mr.  Harris 
himself  greeted  them  with  such  questions  as — 'How  long 
do  you  think  I  will  support  you  ? '  and  '  What  business 
have  beggars  to  marry  ? '  His  manor  house  was  yet  un- 
finished ;  and  he  informed  her  that  he  had  no  accommoda- 
tion there  for  her  approaching  confinement.  She  was 
consequently  compelled  to  take  up  her  residence  for  that 
purpose  in  an  old  mansion,  a  mile  and  a  half  distant,  part 
of  which  had  been  converted  into  a  flannel  manufactory. 
The  young  wife  was  naturally  indignant,  and  freely  expresses 
her  disgust  at  finding  that  she  had  allied  herself  with  a 
family  who  had  neither  sentiment  nor  sensibility,  '  whose 
loftiest  branch  was  as  inferior  to  my  stock  as  the  small  weed 
is  beneath  the  loftiest  tree  that  overshades  it.'    Three  weeks 


MARY  ROBINSON  (PERDITA')  289 

after  her  daughter  was  born,  they  went  on  to  Abergavenny ; 
then  to  Monmouth,  where  they  stayed  a  month  with  her 
grandmother;  and  then  returned  to  London.  Of  course 
they  immediately  began  visiting  Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall, 
where  they  again  met  Lyttelton,  Ayscough,  Fitzgerald,  and 
other  dissipated  men  about  town ;  but  after  a  very  short 
time  Robinson  was  arrested  for  debts  amounting,  she  says, 
to  £1200,  and  lodged  in  the  King's  Bench  Prison.  It  is 
certainly  to  her  credit  that  she  went  into  the  King's  Bench 
with  her  husband,  and  remained  there  with  him  during  the 
whole  period  of  his  incarceration,  in  spite  of  the  numerous 
offers  which  she  alleged  to  have  been  made  by  Lyttelton 
and  others  to  '  protect '  her.  According  to  Miss  Hawkins, 
who  says  she  had  the  story  on  very  good  authority, 
Robinson  had  a  guinea  a  week  allowed  him  by  his  father, 
and  was  offered  employment  in  writing,  which  latter  the 
worthless  rascal  would  not  accept.  But  the  conduct  of 
Mrs.  Robinson,  who  at  that  time  was  only  seventeen,  was 
eminentl}^  meritorious ;  '  she  had  her  child  to  attend  to,  she 
did  all  the  work  of  their  apartments,  she  even  scoured  the 
stairs,  and  she  accepted  the  writing  and  earned  the  pay 
which  he  had  refused.'  She  also  found  time  to  write  a 
quarto  poem  of  some  length,  entitled  Captivity,  which  was 
published  under  the  patronage  of  Georgiana,  the  beautiful 
Duchess  of  Devonshire,  —  unfortunately  with  no  great 
pecuniary  result. 

As  soon  as  they  escaped  from  prison,  however,  the  old  life 
was  resumed,  and  the  very  first  place  they  went  to  was  Vaux- 
hall. But  as  Robinson  could  not  practise  as  a  lawyer  because 
he  had  not  completed  his  articles,  while  his  father  refused 
further  supplies,  the  pressing  problem  was,  as  she  phrases 
it, '  how  were  we  to  subsist  honourably  and  above  reproach.' 
Her  thoughts  turned  once  more  to  the  possibilities  of  the 
stage.    Brereton  introduced  them  to  Sheridan  (who  had  just 

T 


290  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

acquired  a  share  in  Drury  Lane  Theatre),  and   he,   after 
hearing  her  recite  some  passages  of  Shakespeare,  gave  her 
an  engagement.     Garrick,  though  retired  from  the  stage, 
undertook  to  be  her  tutor;  and  on  10th  December  1776  she 
made  her   first   appearance,   in    the    character    of    Juliet. 
Genest,  in  his  Annals  of  the  Stage,  says  she  was  received 
with  great  applause.     Nobody  has  ever  called  her  a  great 
actress ;  but  she  played  certain  parts  with  a  winning  grace- 
fulness, and  the  public  were  bewitched  by  the  beauty  of  her 
face  and  figure, — especially  when  she  took  the  parts  of  male 
characters.     On  the  stage,  as  elsewhere,  she  devoted  much 
attention  to  her  dress.     In  fact,  all  that  she  tells  us  of  her 
representation  of  Juliet  is  that  her  dress  was  a  pale  pink 
satin,  trimmed  with  crape,  richly  spangled  with  silver,  and 
her  head  ornamented  with  white  feathers;    and  so  forth. 
When,  a  few  weeks  later,  she  played  the  part  of  Statira  in 
Lee's   Alexander  the   Great,   there   is   more   excuse   for   a 
detailed  description  of  her  costume ;  for,  in  defiance  of  the 
fashion  which  then  prescribed  hoops  and  powder  for  every 
female   character,   of  whatever  nationality   or   period,   she 
wore  neither,  but  appeared  in  a  white  and  blue  costume  after 
the  Persian   fashion,   with  her  feet  in   richly   ornamented 
sandals ;  which,  as  she  truly  says,  was  both  picturesque  and 
characteristic,    and    in    which    she    received    'the    most 
flattering   approbation.'      In   the   following    February   she 
appeared  as  Amanda  in  Sheridan's  Trip   to  Scarborough, 
when  something  happened  which  nearly  frightened  her  out 
of  her  wits.     The  audience  had  supposed  the  play  to  be  an 
entirely  new  piece ;  and  when  they  found  that  it  was  only  an 
alteration  of  Vanbrugh's  Relapse,  there  was  a  disturbance. 

'  I  was  terrified  beyond  imagination  when  Mrs.  Yates,  no  longer 
able  to  bear  the  hissing  of  the  audience,  quitted  the  scene,  and  left 
me  alone  to  encounter  the  critic  tempest.  I  stood  for  some 
moments  as  if  I  had  been  petrified.     Mr.  Sheridan,  from  the  side 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  291 

wing,  desired  me  not  to  quit  the  boards;  the  late  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  from  the  stage  box,  bade  me  take  courage :  "  It  is 
not  you,  but  the  play  they  hiss,'  said  his  Royal  Highness.  I 
curtsied ;  and  that  curtsey  seemed  to  electrify  the  whole  house, 
for  a  thundering  peal  of  encouraging  applause  followed.  The 
comedy  was  suffered  to  go  on,  and  is  to  this  hour  a  stock  play  at 
Drury  Lane  Theatre.' 

Having  a  handsome  salary,  and  the  unstinted  applause 
of  the  public,  Mrs.  Robinson  now  '  looked  forward  with 
dehght  both  to  celebrity  and  fortune.'  She  had  numbers 
of  the  sort  of  offers  which  a  beautiful  woman  in  her 
position  in  those  days  was  seldom  without ;  and  she  declares 
that  if  she  were  to  mention  the  names  of  all  those  who  held 
forth  the  temptations  of  fortune  to  her  at  that  time,  she 
would  create  a  good  deal  of  consternation  in  many  families 
of  the  fashionable  world.  The  only  name  she  does 
mention  is  that  of  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  who  proposed  to 
make  a  settlement  of  £600  a  year  on  her  if  she  would  leave 
her  husband.  But  although  Robinson  not  only  persistently 
neglected  her,  but  spent  much  of  her  earnings  on  other 
women,  she  had  still '  the  consolation  of  an  unsullied  name.' 
Sheridan  paid  her  a  great  deal  of  attention ;  and  she  had  a 
great  admiration  for  him.  She  again  and  again  contrasts 
his  '  flattering  and  zealous  attentions '  with  the  marked  and 
increasing  neglect  of  her  husband ;  and  urges  (as  though 
there  had  been  some  suggestion  of  impropriety)  that, 
situated  as  she  was,  it  was  difficult  to  avoid  his  societ}^ 
seeing  that  he  was  manager  of  the  theatre. 

'  He  continued  to  visit  me  frequently,  and  always  gave  me  the 
most  friendly  counsel.  He  knew  that  I  was  not  properly  pro- 
tected by  Mr.  Robinson,  but  he  was  too  generous  to  build  his 
gratification  on  the  detraction  of  another.  The  happiest  moments 
I  then  knew  were  passed  in  the  society  of  this  distinguished  being.' 

Her    popularity    increased    every    night;    and    on    the 


292  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

strength  of  increasing  fame  and  fortune  she  launched  out 
into  great  expense ;   hiring  a  house  situated  between  the 
Hummums   and   the   Bedford    Arms    in    Covent    Garden, 
keeping   a   phaeton,  horses,   and   ponies,   and    having  her 
morning  levees  so  crowded  that  she  could  scarcely  find  a 
quiet  hour  for  study.     She  was  also  able  to  boast  that '  my 
fashions  in    dress   were   followed   with   flattering   avidity.' 
Robinson's   creditors,  however  (it  is  always  Ids  creditors), 
became  so  clamorous  that  the  whole  of  the  receipts  from 
her  benefits  had  to  be  handed  over  to  them.     About  this 
time  she  says  that  she  paid  another  visit  to  Mr.  Harris  in 
Wales;    when    Mrs.    Robinson   the   famous    actress    found 
herself  on  a  very  different  footing  from  Mrs.  Robinson  the 
unfortunate  wife  in  want  of  a  temporary  asylum.     She  was 
gazed  at  and   examined  with  the  greatest   curiosity,   and 
consulted  as  the  very  oracle  of  fashion.     On  her  return  to 
London,  the  Duke  of  Rutland   renewed  his   solicitations; 
and  amongst  others,  she  enumerates  similar  proposals  from 
a  Royal  Duke,  a  lofty  marquis,  and  a  city  merchant  of  con- 
siderable fortune,  who  addressed  her  '  through  the  medium 
of  milliners,  mantua-makers,  etc'     These  she  scorned :  but 
a  proposal  was  on  the  point  of  being  made  which  she  did 
accept. 

George  iii.  and  Queen  Caroline,  with  their  family, 
frequently  attended  the  theatre ;  and  although,  as  we  know, 
the  king  occasionally  vented  his  eccentric  opinion  that 
Shakespeare  was  'sad  stuff,'  he  commanded  Tlie  Winters 
Tale  for  the  3rd  of  December  1778.  Mrs.  Robinson  had 
often  played  Perdita  before,  but  she  had  never  yet  per- 
formed before  the  royal  family,  and  was  rather  nervous. 
But  in  the  green-room,  before  she  went  on,  '  Gentleman ' 
Smith  (who  took  the  part  of  Leontes  in  the  play),  laugh- 
ingly exclaimed — 'By  Jove,  Mrs.  Robinson,  you  will  make 
a  conquest  of  the  Prince ;  for  to-night  you  look  handsomer 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('  FERDITA ')  293 

than  ever.'  While  waiting  to  go  on  the  stage,  she  stood  in 
the  wing  opposite  the  royal  box,  in  conversation  with  Lord 
Maiden,  and  noticed  that  the  Prince  was  watching  them  all 
the  time.  Of  course  she  does  not  say  so,  but  it  is  pretty 
evident  between  the  lines  of  her  own  account  of  the  matter 
that  she  likewise  made  eyes  at  him.  This  is  what  happened 
when  she  went  on  : — 

'  I  hurried  through  the  first  scene,  not  without  much  embarrass- 
ment, owing  to  the  fixed  attention  with  which  the  Prince  of  Wales 
honoured  me.  Indeed  some  flattering  remarks  which  were  made 
by  his  Royal  Highness  met  my  ear  as  I  stood  near  his  box,  and  I 
was  overwhelmed  with  confusion.  The  Prince's  particular  atten- 
tion was  observed  by  every  one,  and  I  was  again  rallied  at  the  end 
of  the  play.  On  the  last  curtsey,  the  Royal  family  condescendingly 
returned  a  bow  to  the  performers;  but  just  as  the  curtain  was 
falling,  my  eyes  met  those  of  the  Prince  of  Wales;  and  with  a 
look  that  I  never  shall  foi' get,  he  gently  inclined  his  head  a  second 
time ;  I  felt  the  compliment,  and  blushed  my  gratitude.' 

Two  or  three  days  after  this.  Lord  Maiden  (afterwards 
Earl  of  Essex)  called  at  her  house,  and  with  some  apparent 
hesitation  and  embarrassment,  delivered  a  letter  addressed 
'  to  Perdita,'  which  he  informed  her  was  from  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  '  It  contained  only  a  few  words,  but  those  expres- 
sive of  more  than  common  civility,'  and  it  was  signed 
'  Florizel.'  She  gave  a  formal  and  doubtful  answer,  because 
she  professed  to  have  some  doubt  whether  the  letter  really 
came  from  the  Prince.  Two  days  later,  Lord  Maiden 
brought  a  second  letter,  and  a  message  to  the  effect  that  if 
she  continued  sceptical,  she  was  to  go  to  the  Oratorio,  and 
he  would  by  some  signal  convince  her  that  he  was  the 
writer  of  the  letters.  She  went :  and  when  she  had  taken 
her  seat  in  the  balcony  box,  the  Prince  immediately  began 
making  signs  to  her. 

'He  held  the  printed  bill  before  his  face,  and  drew  his  hand 
across  his  forehead,  still  fixing  his  eyes  on  me.     I  was  confused 


294    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

and  knew  not  what  to  do.  My  husband  was  with  me,  and  I  was 
fearful  of  his  observing  what  passed.  Still  the  Prince  continued 
to  make  signs,  such  as  moving  his  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  box  as 
if  writing,  then  speaking  to  the  Duke  of  York  (then  Bishop  of 
Osnaburg),  who  also  looked  towards  me  with  particular  attention. 
I  now  observed  one  of  the  gentlemen  in  Avaiting  bring  the  Prince 
a  glass  of  water;  before  he  raised  it  to  his  lips  he  looked  at  me.' 

If  all  this  went  on  as  she  describes,  it  is  by  no  means 
surprising  that  many  of  the  audience  observed  it,  and  that 
the  people  in  the  pit  directed  their  gaze  at  the  place  where 
she  sat.  Robinson  seems  to  have  had  a  most  accommodat- 
ing attack  of  temporary  blindness.  On  the  following  day,  she 
informs  us,  one  of  the  '  diurnal  prints  '  observed  that  there 
was  one  passage  in  Dryden's  Ode  which  seemed  particularly 
interesting  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who — 

'  Grazed  on  the  fair 
Who  caused  his  care, 
And  sigh'd,  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again.' 

But  she  conveniently  omits  to  mention  that  another  of  the 
'  diurnal  prints '  gave  the  following  rather  different  account 
of  the  whole  matter  : — 

'  A  circumstance  of  rather  an  embarrassing  nature  happened  at 

last  night's  Oratorio.     Mrs.  R ,  decked  out  in  all  her  finery, 

took  care  to  post  herself  in  one  of  the  upper  boxes,  immediately 
opposite  the  Prince's,  and  by  those  airs  peculiar  to  herself,  con- 
trived at  last  so  to  basilisk  a  certain  heir-apparent  that  his 
fixed  attention  to  the  beautiful  object  above  became  generally 
noticed,  and  soon  after  astonished  their  Majesties,  who,  not  being 
able  to  discover  the  cause,  seemed  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the 
extraordinary  effect.  No  sooner,  however,  were  they  properly  in- 
formed, than  a  messenger  was  instantly  sent  aloft  desiring  the 
dart-dealing  actress  to  withdraw,  which  she  complied  with,  though 
not  without  expressing  the  utmost  chagrin  at  her  mortifying  re- 
moval.' 

'  Florizel's '  letters  now  came  almost  daily ;  and  she 
answered  them  as  '  Perdita.'     She  says  there  was  '  a  beautiful 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  295 

ingenuousness  in  his  language,  a  warm  and  enthusiastic 
adoration,  expressed  in  every  letter,'  which  interested  and 
charmed  her.  He  sent  her  his  portrait  in  miniature, 
accompanied  by  a  small  heart  cut  in  paper,  on  one  side  of 
which  he  had  written  Je  ne  change  qu'en  onourant,  and  on 
the  other.  Unalterable  to  my  Perdita  through  life.  Of 
course  he  pressed  for  an  interview;  which  for  some  time 
she  declined ;  and  during  the  whole  spring,  while  this  corre- 
spondence lasted,  she  gave  the  Prince,  we  are  assured,  the 
best  advice  in  her  power.  She  recommended  him  to  be 
patient  till  he  should  become  his  own  master ;  not  to  do 
anything  prematurely  that  would  incur  the  displeasure  of 
the  King;  to  wait  till  he  knew  more  of  her  mind  and 
manners  before  he  engaged  in  a  public  attachment  to  her ; 
and  she  also  reminded  him  that  if  she  consented  to  quit  her 
husband,  she  would  be  thrown  entirely  on  his  mercy; 
pictured  the  temptations  to  which  beauty  would  expose 
him ;  and  what  she  would  suffer  if  he  should  ever  change 
in  his  sentiments  towards  her.  In  this  account  of  the 
Florizel  and  Perdita  correspondence,  Mrs.  Robinson  clearly 
wishes  to  convey  the  impression  that,  although  a  neglected 
and  almost  deserted  wife,  it  took  a  great  deal  to  seduce  her 
from  the  path  of  virtue.  But  it  is  equally  susceptible  of  the 
interpretation  that  by  an  affected  coyness  and  reluctance 
she  was  really  stimulating  the  ardour  of  her  pursuer ;  while 
her  diplomatic  references  to  the  position  she  would  be 
placed  in  in  the  event  of  a  change  in  his  sentiments  (which 
not  only  drew  by  way  of  answer  repeated  assurances  of 
lasting  affection,  but  also  a  bond,  payable  on  the  Prince's 
coming  of  age,  for  £20,000)  show  that  Perdita,  notwith- 
standing her  assertion  that  she  knew  as  little  of  the  world's 
deceptions  as  if  she  had  been  educated  in  the  deserts  of 
Siberia,  was  really  gifted  with  a  shrewdness  far  beyond  her 
years.     The   Prince   became  more  and  more  eager   for   an 


296    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

interview,  and  suggested  tliat  she  should  come  to  his  apart- 
ments disguised  in  male  attire.  But  this  she  most  decidedly- 
refused  to  do ;  and  the  refusal,  as  Lord  Maiden  reported, 
threw  him  into  the  most  distressing  agitation.  Then  Lord 
Maiden  comphcated  matters  by  lamenting  that  he  had  ever 
become  their  go-between,  and  declaring  that  he  was  himself 
consumed  with  a  violent  passion  for  her,  which,  in  these 
circumstances,  made  him  the  most  miserable  of  men.  After 
this,  we  are  told  some  more  details  of  her  husband's 
neglect  and  infidelities ;  and  then  the  autobiography  breaks 
off  with  the  following  passage : — 

'  His  indifference  naturally  produced  an  alienation  of  esteem  on 
my  side,  and  the  increasing  adoration  of  the  most  enchanting  of 
mortals  hourly  reconciled  my  mind  to  the  idea  of  a  separation. 
The  unbounded  assurances  of  lasting  affection  which  I  received 
from  his  Royal  Highness  in  many  scores  of  the  most  eloquent 
letters,  the  contempt  which  I  experienced  from  my  husband,  and 
the  pei'petual  labour  which  I  underwent  for  his  support,  at  length 
began  to  weary  out  my  fortitude.  Still  I  was  reluctant  to  become 
the  theme  of  public  animadversion,  and  still  I  remonstrated  with 
my  husband  on  the  unkindness  of  his  conduct.' 

The  managers  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre  saw  how  matters  were 
tending ;  and  endeavoured  to  tie  up  their  popular  actress 
with  future  engagements  at  a  greatly  augmented  salary. 
But  for  some  little  time  she  would  commit  herself  neither 
way.  She  does  not  mention  the  fact  in  the  account  of  the 
'  Florizel '  correspondence  given  in  her  autobiography,  but  in 
a  letter  written  in  1783  she  says  that  previous  to  her  first 
interview  with  the  Prince  she  had  been  astonished  to  find  in 
one  of  his  charming  letters  a  bond  of  a  most  solemn  and 
binding  character,  signed  by  the  Prince,  and  sealed  with  the 
Royal  arms,  containing  a  promise  to  pay  her  the  sum  of 
£20,000  immediately  he  came  of  age.  She  declares  that  she 
was  greatly  surprised  to  receive  anything  of  this  kind,  for 
the  idea  of  interest  had  never  entered  her  mind.      In  fact. 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('  PERDITA ')  297 

she  felt  shocked  and  mortified   at   the   indelicate   idea   of 
entering  into  any  pecuniary  engagements  with  the  Prince. 
'  Secure  in  the  possession  of  his  heart,  I  had  in  that  delight- 
ful certainty  counted  all  my  future  treasure.'     But  it  is  sig- 
nificant that  she  granted  no  interview  before  she  had  received 
the  bond;  and  she  seems  to  have  forgotten  those  shrewd 
representations  in  her  Perdita  letters  of  the  distress  in  which 
she  would  be  plunged  if  ever  he  should  change  in  his  senti- 
ments towards  her.      However,  she  kept  the  bond :  and  it 
was  well  for  her  that  she  did  so ;  for  although  the  Prince's 
bonds  did  not  always  turn  out  to  be  of  their  face  value,  they 
were  better  than  the  Royal  word.     When  she  at  length  con- 
sented to  grant  the  Prince  an  interview,  the  self-sacrificing 
Lord  Maiden  proposed  to   lend  his  house  in  Dean  Street, 
Mayfair,  for   the   purpose;   but   the   Prince   found   himself 
unable  to  escape  from  his  tutor.     He  then  recurred  to  his 
former   suggestion   of  a  visit   to   Buckingham   Palace    (or 
Buckingham  House  as  it  was  then  called)  in  male  attire ; 
but  to  this  she  objected  as  firmly  as  before.     How  and  where 
the  eventful  interview  did  at  last  take  place,  she  described,  a 
few  years  afterwards,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend.     It  is  necessary 
to  remind  the  reader  that  in  1780  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
his  brother  the  Duke  of  York,  were  living  in  seclusion  at 
Boner  Lodge,  Kew,  where  their  education  was  being  con- 
ducted by  the  Bishop  of  Lichfield  and  other  reputedly  rigid 
tutors.       Mrs.  Robinson  writes,  in  the  approved  noveUst's 
style : — 

'  At  length  an  evening  was  fixed  for  this  long-dreaded  interview. 
Lord  Maiden  and  myself  dined  at  the  inn  on  the  island  between 
Kew  and  Brentford.  We  waited  the  signal  for  crossing  the  river 
in  a  boat  which  had  been  engaged  for  the  purpose.  Heaven  can 
witness  how  many  conflicts  my  agitated  heart  endured  at  this  most 
important  moment !  I  admired  the  Prince  ;  I  felt  grateful  for  his 
affection.  He  was  the  most  engaging  of  created  beings.  I  had 
corresponded   with  him   during  many  months,  and  his  eloquent 


298    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

letters,  the  exquisite  sensibility  which  breathed  through  every  line, 
his  ardent  professions  of  adoration,  had  combined  to  shake  my 
feeble  resolution.  The  handkerchief  was  waved  on  the  opposite 
shore ;  but  the  signal  was,  by  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  rendered 
almost  imperceptible.  Lord  Maiden  took  my  hand,  I  stepped  into 
the  boat,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  landed  before  the  iron  gates  of 
Old  Kew  Palace.  The  interview  was  but  for  a  moment.  The 
Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Duke  of  York  (then  Bishop  of  Osnaburg) 
were  walking  down  the  avenue.  They  hastened  to  meet  us.  A 
few  words,  and  those  scarcely  articulate,  were  uttered  by  the 
Prince,  when  a  noise  of  people  approaching  from  the  Palace 
startled  us.  The  moon  was  now  rising ;  and  the  idea  of  being 
overheard,  or  of  his  Royal  Highness  being  seen  out  at  so  unusual 
an  hour,  terrified  the  whole  group.  After  a  few  more  words  of  the 
most  affectionate  nature  uttered  by  the  Prince,  we  parted ;  and 
Lord  Maiden  and  myself  returned  to  the  island.  The  Prince  never 
quitted  the  avenue,  nor  the  presence  of  the  Duke  of  York,  during 
the  whole  of  this  short  meeting.  Alas  !  my  friend,  if  my  mind 
was  before  influenced  by  esteem,  it  was  now  awakened  to  the  most 
enthusiastic  admiration.  The  rank  of  the  Prince  no  longer  chilled 
into  awe  that  being  who  now  considered  him  as  the  lover  and  the 
friend.  The  graces  of  his  person,  the  irresistible  sweetness  of  his 
smile,  the  tenderness  of  his  melodious  yet  manly  voice,  will  be 
remembered  by  me  till  every  vision  of  this  changing  scene  shall  be 
forgotten.' 

She  goes  on  to  relate  that  many  and  frequent  were  the 
interviews  which  afterwards  took  place  at  this  romantic 
spot;  but  although  their  walks  were  sometimes  continued 
till  past  midnight,  the  Duke  of  York  ('then  Bishop  of 
Osnaburg ! ')  and  Lord  Maiden  Avere  always  of  the  party,  and 
their  conversation  was  always  '  composed  of  general  topics  ! ' 
She  alwa3"s  wore  a  dark-coloured  habit,  and  the  rest  of  the 
party  generally  wrapped  themselves  in  dark  great-coats, 
except  the  Duke  of  York  who  alarmed  the  others  by  appear- 
ing in  a  most  unecclesiastical  coat  of  a  conspicuous  buflt" 
colour.  It  is  somewhat  inconsistent  with  this  when,  in  the 
course  of  her  raptures  about  thePrince,she  goes  onto  say  that — 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  299 

'  He  sang  Avith  exquisite  taste,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice,  break- 
ing on  the  silence  of  the  night,  have  often  appeared  to  my  entranced 
senses  like  more  than  mortal  melody.  Often  have  I  lamented  the 
distance  which  destiny  had  placed  between  us.  How  would  my 
soul  have  idolised  such  a  husband !  Alas  !  how  often,  in  the  ardent 
enthusiasm  of  my  soul,  have  I  formed  the  wish  that  that  being 
were  mine  alone!  to  whom  partial  millions  were  to  look  up  for 
protection.' 

We  know  too  much  about  this  more  than  mortal  young 
gentleman  to  sympathise  very  heartily  with  all  this  gushing 
sentiment.  But  we  may  be  permitted  to  remark,  with 
reference  to  her  insistence  on  the  secrecy  of  the  proceedings, 
that  on  a  dark  night  the  tones  of  the  Prince's  voice  must 
have  been  even  louder  than  the  Duke  of  York's  buff  coat. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  was  just  on  the  point  of  receiving  his 
first  separate  establishment ;  and  the  caution  observed,  she 
says,  was  due  to  their  apprehension  that  the  knowledge  of 
his  attachment  to  a  married  woman  might  injure  him  in  the 
opinion  of  the  world.  It  would  perhaps  have  been  more 
correct  to  say  that  they  feared  it  might  injure  his  prospects 
of  a  very  liberal  settlement.  However,  his  affection  for  her 
seemed  to  increase  daily ;  she  looked  forward  to  the  adjust- 
ing of  his  Royal  Highness's  establishment  for  '  the  public 
avowal  of  our  mutual  attachment ' ;  and  considered  herself 
as  '  the  most  blest  of  human  beings.' 

If  they  meant  to  keep  their  connection  a  secret,  they 
certainly  went  a  very  curious  way  about  it,  both  at  Kew  and 
elsewhere.  On  the  31st  of  May,  1780,  she  made  her  last 
appearance  on  the  boards  of  the  theatre;  having  been  an 
actress  for  only  three  years  and  a  few  months.  And  during 
the  following  summer,  as  she  herself  admits,  the  Prince 
sought  opportunities  to  distinguish  her  more  publicly  than 
was  prudent  in  his  Royal  Highness's  situation.  He  appeared 
in  her  company  at  the  King's  hunt  at  Windsor,  at  reviews  in 
the  Park,  at  theatres,  and  other  places  of  public  entertain- 


300  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

merit.      One  instance    of    his    indiscretion   she  relates   as 
follows : — 

'  On  the  4th  of  June,  I  went,  by  his  desire,  into  the  Chamber- 
lain's box  at  the  birth-night  ball ;  the  distressing  observation  of  the 
circle  was  drawn  towards  that  part  of  the  box  in  which  I  sat  by 
the  marked  and  injudicious  attentions  of  his  Royal  Highness.  I 
had  not  arrived  many  minutes  before  I  witnessed  a  singular  species 
of  fashionable  coquetry.  Previous  to  his  Highness's  beginning  his 
minuet,  I  perceived  a  woman  of  high  rank  select  from  the  bouquet 
which  she  wore  two  rosebuds,  which  she  gave  to  the  Prince,  as  he 
afterwards  informed  me,  "emblematical  of  herself  and  him."  I 
observed  his  Royal  Highness  immediately  beckon  to  a  nobleman, 
who  has  since  formed  a  part  of  his  establishment,  and,  looking 
most  earnestly  at  me,  whisper  a  few  words,  at  the  same  time 
presenting  to  him  his  newly  acquired  trophy.  In  a  few  moments 
Lord  C entered  the  Chamberlain's  box,  and,  giving  the  rose- 
buds into  my  hands,  informed  me  that  he  was  commissioned  by 
the  Prince  to  do  so.  I  placed  them  in  my  bosom,  and,  I  confess, 
felt  proud  of  the  power  by  which  I  thus  publicly  mortified  an 
exalted  rival.' 

The  '  diurnal  prints '  now  contained  what  she  calls  the 
most  scandalous  paragraphs  respecting  the  Prince  of  Wales 
and  herself,  and  whenever  she  appeared  in  public  she  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  gazing  of  the  multitude.  She  was 
frequently  obhged  to  quit  Ranelagh  owing  to  the  crowd 
which  assembled  and  stared  round  her  box,  and  she 
scarcely  entered  a  shop  without  suffering  the  greatest  in- 
convenience, sometimes  having  to  wait  for  hours  till  the 
crowd  which  surrounded  her  carriage  had  dispersed.  She 
professes  that  she  did  not  like  it ;  her  heart,  thank  Heaven  ! 
was  not  formed  in  the  mould  of  callous  effrontery ;  she  even 
shuddered  at  the  gulf  before  her,  and  felt  small  gratifica- 
tion at  having  taken  a  step  which — well,  which  many  who 
condemned  her  would  have  been  no  less  willing  to  imitate 
if  they  had  had  the  opportunity.  But,  according  to  Miss 
Lsetitia  Hawkins  (daughter  of  Dr.  Johnson's  '  unclubbable ' 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  SOI 

friend,  Sir  John  Hawkins),  who  had  many  opportunities  of 
observing  her,  as  for  a  time  they  lived  in  the  same  street — 
our  Perdita  had  always  adopted  a  very  extraordinary 
method  of  avoiding  public  attention.  At  the  outset  of 
her  career  she  went  about  in  a  high  phaeton,  '  in  which 
she  was  driven  by  the  favoured  of  the  day,  three  candidates 
and  her  husband  were  outriders,  and  this  in  the  face  of  the 
congregations  turning  out  of  public  worship.'  Miss  Hawkins 
admits  that  she  was  unquestionably  very  beautiful,  though, 
in  her  opinion,  more  in  face  than  in  figure ;  and  as  she  pro- 
ceeded in  her  course,  she  acquired  a  remarkable  facility  in 
adapting  her  deportment  to  her  dress. 

'  When  she  was  to  be  seen  daily  in  St.  James's  Street  and  Pall 
Mall,  even  in  her  chariot  this  variation  was  striking.  To-day  she 
was  a  paysanne,  with  her  straw  hat  tied  at  the  back  of  her  head, 
looking  as  if  too  new  to  what  she  passed  to  know  what  she  looked 
at.  Yesterday,  she,  perhaps,  had  been  the  dressed  belle  of  Hyde 
Park,  trimmed,  powdered,  patched,  painted  to  the  utmost  power 
of  rouge  and  white  lead  ;  to-morrow  she  would  be  the  cravatted 
Amazon  of  the  riding-house :  but,  be  she  what  she  might,  the  hats 
of  the  fashionable  promenaders  swept  the  ground  as  she  passed.' 

At  this  time,  too,  she  used  to  drive  a  Hght  blue  carriage, 
which  the  Prince  had  bought  for  her  at  a  cost  of  nine 
hundred  guineas,  which  bore  in  the  centre  of  each  of  its 
panels,  in  addition  to  her  monogram,  a  basket  of  flowers 
so  artfully  painted  that  at  a  little  distance  it  might  be  mis- 
taken for  a  coronet.  But  her  triumph  was  soon  over.  While 
she  was  looking  forward  impatiently  to  the  day  '  when  I 
might  enjoy  the  public  protection  of  that  being  for  whom  I 
had  given  up  all,' — a  phrase,  by  the  way,  which  sounds  as 
though  she  expected  to  live  at  Carlton  House  as  a  recog- 
nised appendage  of  the  heir-apparent !  she  received  a  cold 
and  unkind  letter  briefly  informing  her  that  they  must  meet 
no  more.  She  repeats,  again  and  again,  and  calls  God  to 
witness,  that  she  was  totally  unaware  of  any  just  cause  for 


302  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

this  sudden  alteration  in  the  Prince's  sentiments.  Only 
two  days  previously  she  had  seen  the  Prince  at  Kew,  and 
his  affection  'appeared  to  be  boundless  as  it  was  un- 
diminished.' She  wrote  immediately  for  an  explanation 
of  what  had  so  amazed  and  afflicted  her.  But  there  was 
no  answer.  Again  she  wrote,  and  then,  as  the  Prince 
still  maintained  an  inexplicable  silence,  she  set  out  in  a 
small  pony  phaeton  for  Windsor.  The  Prince  refused  to 
see  her.  She  then  consulted  with  Lord  Maiden  and  the 
Duke  of  Dorset;  but  they  could  neither  of  them  account 
for  this  sudden  change  in  the  Prince's  feelings.  Nor, 
except  on  the  supposition  (for  which,  indeed,  there  are 
good  grounds)  that  the  fickle  Prince  was  tired  of  her,  and 
was  in  hot  pursuit  of  another  charmer,  has  it  ever  been 
accounted  for  to  this  day.  Of  course  the  '  diurnal  prints ' 
said  things  which  were  not  very  pleasant  reading  for  her ; 
and  there  were  paragraphs  and  pamphlets  which  were 
not  even  decent  reading,  either  for  her  or  for  anybody 
else.  After  a  time  she  wrote  to  the  Prince  again  com- 
plaining of  his  injustice  in  allowing  such  things  to  be 
said  of  her;  whereupon,  she  declares,  he  wrote  her  a 
most  eloquent  letter,  '  disclaiming  the  causes  alleged  by 
a  calumniating  world,  and  fully  acquitting  me  of  the 
charges  which  had  been  propagated  to  destroy  me.'  It 
is  a  pity  she  did  not  preserve  this  letter  for  insertion  in 
her  biography. 

At  this  juncture,  she  says,  Mr.  Robinson  constantly  wrote 
to  her  in  the  language  of  unbounded  affection ;  nor  did  he 
fail,  when  they  met,  to  express  his  agony  at  their  separation, 
and  even  a  wish  for  reunion.  How  he  had  been  supporting 
himself  without  having  her  salary  to  draw  from  the  theatre 
treasury  we  are  not  told.  The  assiduities  of  Lord  Maiden, 
too,  daily  increased ;  and  she  admits  that  she  had  no  other 
friend  on  whom  she  could  rely  for  assistance  or  protection ; 


MARY  ROBINSON  CPERDITA')  303 

adding,  in  order  to  avoid  misconstruction,  '  when  I  say 
protection,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  mean  pecuniary 
assistance,  Lord  Maiden  being,  at  the  time  alluded  to,  even 
poorer  than  myself.'  Another  strange  part  of  her  story  is 
that  the  Prince  suddenly  assured  her  of  his  wish  to  renew 
their  former  friendship  and  affection,  and  urged  her  to  meet 
him  at  the  house  of  Lord  Maiden  in  Clarges  Street. 

'  After  much  hesitation,  by  the  advice  of  Lord  Maiden,  I  con- 
sented to  meet  his  Royal  Highness.  He  accosted  me  with  every 
appearance  of  tender  attachment,  declaring  that  he  had  never  for 
one  moment  ceased  to  love  me,  but  that  I  had  many  concealed 
enemies  who  were  exerting  every  effort  to  undermine  me.  We 
passed  some  hours  in  the  most  friendly  and  delightful  con- 
versation, and  I  began  to  flatter  myself  that  all  our  differences 
were  adjusted.  But  what  words  can  express  my  surprise  and 
chagrin,  when,  on  meeting  his  Royal  Highness  the  very  next  day 
in  Hyde  Park,  he  turned  his  head  to  avoid  seeing  me,  and  even 
affected  not  to  know  me.' 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  cause,  her  predicament  was 
certainly  now  a  very  awkward  one.  She  was  living  in  Cork 
Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  in  what  she  calls  '  a  neat  but  by 
no  means  splendid  house,'  that  had  been  fitted  up  for  the 
Countess  of  Derby  on  her  separation  from  her  lord.  She 
was  in  debt  to  the  extent  of  nearly  £7000,  with  '  insulting ' 
creditors  hourly  assailing  her.  And  she  was  precluded  from 
returning  to  her  profession  because  it  was  believed  that  the 
public  would  not  suffer  her  reappearance  on  the  stage. 
Negotiations  appear  to  have  been  going  on  with  the  Royal 
Family  as  early  as  August  1781,  for  in  that  month  George 
III.  wrote  to  Lord  North. 

'  My  eldest  son  got  last  year  into  an  improper  connection  with 
an  actress  and  woman  of  indifferent  character  through  the  friendly 
assistance  of  Lord  Maiden.  He  sent  her  letters  and  very  foolish 
promises,  which  undoubtedly  by  her  conduct  she  has  cancelled. 
Colonel  Hotham  has  settled  to  pay  the  enormous  sum  of  £5000 


304  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

for  the  letters,  etc.,  being  returned.      You  will  therefore  settle 
with  him.' 

What  Perdita  did  with  this  £5000  does  not  appear ;  she 
does  not  even  mention  the  circumstance ;  but  probably  some 
portion  of  it  served  to  keep  the  '  insulting '  creditors  at  bay. 
How  she  managed  to  support  herself  until  1783  neither  she 
nor  her  daughter  condescends  to  inform  us.     All  they  tell  us 
is  that  after  repeated  applications  to  the  Prince,  of  which  he 
took  no  notice,  the  business  was  at  length  submitted  to  the 
arbitration  of  Charles   James  Fox,  and  that  in  1783  her 
claims  were  adjusted  by  the  grant  of  an  annuity  of  £500 
(presumably  out  of  the  public  purse),  half  of  which  was  to 
descend  to  her  daughter  at  her  decease.     This  settlement 
was  to  be  considered  as  an  equivalent  for  the  return  of  the 
Prince's  bond  for  £20,000,  and  as  a  consideration  for  '  the 
resignation  of  a  lucrative  profession  at  the  particular  request 
of  his  Royal  Highness.'     In  the  meantime,  however,  we  may 
be  sure  she  was  not  without  offers  of  '  protection.'    Huish,  in 
his  Memoirs  of  George  IV.,  tells  a  curious  story  which  to 
that  reverend  gentleman's  mind  indicated  that  she  treated  all 
improper  offers  with  a  proper  disdain.     Amongst  the  most 
dashing  of  the  city  rakes  of  the  time  was  the  son  of  Alder- 
man  Pugh,  who,  ever  since  seeing  Mrs.  Robinson  in  the 
character  of  Juliet  had  been  violently  enamoured  of  her. 
Now,  says  Huish — 

'  He  wrote  to  her,  offering  her  twenty  guineas  for  ten  mimtes' 
conversation  with  her.  Mrs.  Robinson  immediately  answered  him, 
consenting  to  grant  him  the  favour  he  asked  for  the  stipulated 
sum ;  and  elated  with  the  prospect  of  the  consummation  of  his 
wishes,  Pugh  repaired  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Robinson  at  the 
appointed  time.  On  his  arrival,  however,  instead,  as  he  expected, 
of  beino-  closeted  with  Mrs.  Robinson,  he  was  ushered  into  a  room 
where  he  found  that  lady  in  company  with  General  Tarleton  and 
Lord  Maiden ;  and,  on  his  entrance,  Mrs.  Robinson  detached  her 
watch  from  her  side  and  laid  it  on  the  table.     She  then  immedi- 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  305 

ately  turned  from  her  former  companions,  and  addressed  her  con- 
versation wholly  to  Pugh,  who,  by  the  titter  which  sat  on  the 
countenances  of  General  Tarleton  and  Lord  Maiden,  evidently  saw 
that  he  was  a  complete  dupe  in  the  hands  of  his  beautiful  in- 
amorata. Mrs.  Robinson  now  took  up  the  watch,  the  ten  minutes 
were  expired ;  she  rose  from  her  chair,  rang  the  bell,  and  on  the 
servant  entering,  she  desired  him  to  open  the  door  for  Mr.  Pugh, 
who,  completely  confounded,  took  his  leave,  minus  twenty  guineas, 
which,  on  the  following  day,  were  divided  amongst  four  charitable 
institutions.' 

If  we  may  believe  Miss  Lsetitia  Hawkins,  however,  Mrs. 
Robinson  about  this  time  resided  'under  protection'  in 
Berkeley  Square,  and  appeared  to  guests  as  mistress  of  the 
house  as  well  as  of  its  master ;  when  her  conversation  was 
said,  by  those  invited,  to  want  refinement  and  decorum. 
Miss  Hawkins  adds  that,  in  the  hope  of  an  aristocratic 
establishment,  Mrs.  Robinson  would  now  have  bribed  her 
husband  heavily  to  renounce  her ;  but  in  both  schemes  she 
was  foiled. 

'  I  saw  her  one  day  handed  to  her  extravagantly  outrageous  vis- 
a-vis by  a  man  whom  she  pursued  Avith  a  doting  passion ;  all  was 
still  externally  brilliant ;  she  was  fine  and  fashionable  ;  and  the  men 
of  the  day  in  Bond  Street  still  pirouetted  as  her  carriage  passed 
them  :  the  next  day  the  vehicle  was  reclaimed  by  the  maker ;  the 
Adonis  whom  she  courted  fled  her;  she  followed — all  to  no 
purpose.' 

Some  of  the  caricaturists  of  the  day  represented  her  as 
having  formed  a  connection  with  Charles  James  Fox ;  and 
Horace  Walpole  wrote  to  the  Earl  of  Harcourt  in  September 
1782,  saying — '  Charles  Fox  is  languishing  at  the  feet  of  Mrs. 
Robinson.  George  Selwyn  says — "  Who  should  the  Man  of 
the  People  live  with  but  with  the  Woman  of  the  People  ? " ' 
But  this  rumour  appears  to  have  had  its  only  foundation  in 
the  fact  that,  at  the  time,  Fox  was  negotiating  between  her 
and  the  Prince  for  a  settlement  of  her  claims.     The  only 

u 


306  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

connection  of  which  we  have  authentic  information  was  one 
with  Colonel  Tarleton.  On  21st  September  1782,  the 
Morning  Post  favoured  its  readers  with  the  following  spicy 
item  of  fashionable  intelligence  : — 

'  Yesterday  a  messenger  arrived  in  Town,  with  the  very  inter- 
esting and  pleasing  intelligence  of  the  Tarleton,  armed  ship, 
having,  after  a  chase  of  some  months,  captured  the  Perdita  frigate, 
and  brought  her  safe  into  Egham  port.  The  Perdita  is  a  pro- 
digious fine  clean-bottomed  vessel,  and  had  taken  many  prizes 
during  her  cruise,  particularly  the  Florizel,  a  most  valuable  ship 
belonging  to  the  Crown,  but  which  was  immediately  released,  after 
taking  out  the  cargo.  The  Perdita  was  captured  by  the  Fox,  but 
was  afterwards  re-taken  by  the  Maiden,  and  had  a  sumptuous  suit 
of  new  rigging,  when  she  fell  in  with  the  Tarleton.  Her  manoeuvr- 
ing to  escape  was  admirable  ;  but  the  Tarleton,  fully  determined  to 
take  her  or  perish,  would  not  give  up  the  chase  ;  and  at  length, 
coming  alongside  the  Perdita,  fully  determined  to  board  her, 
sword  in  hand,  she  surrendered  at  discretion.' 

Colonel  Tarleton  had  been  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Robin- 
son before  her  connection  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.  At 
the  end  of  1779  he  was  sent  out  to  America,  where  he 
distinguished  himself  as  a  brilliant  cavalry  officer  under 
Cornwallis;  and  early  in  1782,  after  the  surrender  of 
York  Town  and  Gloucester  (the  latter  of  which  he  had 
held  with  five  hundred  men),  he  returned  on  parole  to 
England.  In  September  of  that  year  he  seems  to  have 
taken  up  his  quarters  with  Mrs.  Robinson;  and,  for  a 
time  at  least,  they  evidently  went  the  pace.  A  paragraph 
from  one  of  the  'diurnal  prints'  for  4th  December  1782, 
unearthed  by  Mr.  John  Ashton,  gives  the  following 
description  of  her  turn-out : — 

'  Mrs.  Robinson  now  sports  a  carriage,  which  is  the  admiration 
of  all  the  charioteering  circles  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  James's ;  the 
body  Carmelite  and  silver,  ornamented  with  a  French  mantle,  and 
the  cipher  in  a  wreath  of  flowers ;  the  carriage  scarlet  and  silver, 
the    seat-cloth    richly    ornamented    with    silver     fringe.     Mrs. 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('  PERDITA  ')  307 

Robinson's  livery  is  green,  faced  with  yellow,  and  richly  trimmed 
with  broad  silver  lace ;  the  harness  ornamented  with  stars  of 
silver,  richly  and  elegantly  finished.  The  inside  of  the  carriage 
is  lined  with  Avhite  silk,  embellished  with  scarlet  trimmings.' 

And  she  affected  to  wonder  that  a  crowd  collected  when 
such  an  equipage  as  this,  which  might  have  belonged  to  a 
circus,  stopped  before  a  shop  door !  Mrs.  Robinson's 
daughter  is,  not  unnaturally,  very  reticent  about  the 
Tarleton  affair;  but  she  tells  us  in  a  footnote  to  the  con- 
tinuation of  her  mother's  Memoirs  that  'an  attachment 
took  place  between  Mrs.  Robinson  and  Colonel  Tarleton 
shortly  after  the  return  of  the  latter  from  America,  which 
subsisted  during  sixteen  years.  On  the  circumstances 
which  occasioned  its  dissolution,'  she  adds  with  tantalising 
brevity,  '  it  is  neither  necessary  nor  would  it  be  proper  to 
dwell.'  Where  the  money  came  from  for  all  the  foregoing- 
finery  we  may  presume  it  would  also  not  be  proper  to 
inquire. 

It  was  in  1783,  apparently,  after  having  obtained  a  settle- 
ment of  her  claims  on  the  Prince  of  Wales,  that  Mrs. 
Robinson  determined  to  divert  her  mind  from  accumulat- 
ing troubles  by  a  little  jaunt  to  Paris.  She  procured  a 
number  of  introductions,  including  one  to  Sir  John  Lambert, 
an  English  banker  resident  there,  and  seems  to  have  had 
a  particularly  good  time  of  it.  The  obliging  Sir  John 
procured  her  comfortable  apartments,  a  box  at  the  opera, 
etc.,  and  got  up  numerous  parties  for  her  amusement.  The 
dissolute  Duke  of  Orleans  made  overtures  to  her ;  but  she 
had  now  learned  not  to  put  her  trust  in  princes,  and 
discreetly  declined.  He  got  up  '  most  enchanting  fetes  '  in 
the  gardens  of  his  place  at  Mousseau ;  but  she  only  attended 
one,  which  was  given  in  honour  of  her  birthday,  when 
the  gardens  were  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  every  tree 
decorated    with     her    initials.       She    also    went    to    see 


308  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Marie  Antoinette  dine  in  public ;  attiring  herself  for  the 
occasion  in  '  the  most  tasteful  ornaments  of  Mademoiselle 
Bertin,  the  reigning  milliner,'  including  '  a  pale  lustring 
train  and  body,  with  a  tiffany  petticoat,  festooned  with 
bunches  of  the  most  delicate  lilac,'  and  a  plume  of  white 
feathers  for  her  head.  How  a  lady  with  an  annuity  of  no  more 
than  £500  could  deck  herself  out  in  this  style  and  expect  to 
make  both  ends  meet,  we  are  not  informed.  However, 
Marie  Antoinette  was  very  pleased  with  her  appearance, 
and  in  return  for  the  pleasure  of  having  a  close  look  at  the 
portrait  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  which  Mrs.  Robinson  wore 
suspended  from  her  neck,  the  French  queen  presented  la 
belie  Anglaise  with  a  purse  (presumably  empty)  netted 
by  her  own  royal  hands.  Soon  after  this  she  returned  to 
England ;  when,  as  Miss  Hawkins  puts  it,  '  she  took  up  a 
new  life  in  London;  became  literary,  brought  up  her 
daughter  literary,  and  expressed  without  qualification  her 
rage  when  her  works  were  not  urged  forward  beyond  all 
others.'  The  brevity  of  this  is  only  equalled  by  its  un- 
kindness ;  and  it  may  be  worth  while  to  go  in  rather  more 
detail  into  Mrs.  Robinson's  literary  career.  First,  however, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  say  a  word  or  two  about  her  relations 
with  Colonel  Tarleton.  We  are  told  that  it  was  her 
exertions  in  the  service  of  Colonel  Tarleton,  when  he  was 
pressed  by  pecuniary  embarrassment  in  1784,  that  led  to 
an  unfortunate  journey  which  proved  fatal  to  her  health. 
It  appears  that,  while  already  exhausted  by  fatigue  and 
anxiety,  she  slept  in  a  damp  post-chaise  with  the  windows 
open,  in  the  course  of  a  long  night  journey,  and  so  brought 
on  rheumatic  fever,  which  confined  her  to  her  bed  for 
six  months,  and  resulted  in  a  permanent  malady  which 
entailed  great  suffering  and  completely  deprived  her  of 
the  use  of  her  legs.  The  Colonel,  says  her  daughter, 
accompanied  her  to  the  Continent,  and  by  his  affectionate 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  309 

attentions  sought  to  alleviate  those  sufferings  of  which 
he  had  been  the  involuntary  occasion.  But  although,  in 
successive  years,  she  tried  the  baths  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  St. 
Amand,  and  other  places,  all  treatment  was  inefficacious, 
and  she  remained  a  cripple  from  the  age  of  twenty-six  to 
the  end  of  her  days.  Miss  Hawkins  thus  records  her 
last  glimpse  of  her : — 

'  On  a  table  in  one  of  the  waiting-rooms  of  the  Opera  House 
was  seated  a  woman  of  fashionable  appearance,  still  beautiful,  but 
not  "  in  the  bloom  of  beauty's  pride  "  ;  she  was  not  noticed,  except 
by  the  eye  of  pity.  In  a  few  minutes  two  liveried  servants  came 
to  her ;  they  took  from  their  pockets  long  white  sleeves,  which 
they  drew  on  their  arms,  they  then  lifted  her  up  and  conveyed  her 
to  her  carriage ;  it  was  the  then  helpless  paralytic  Perdita  ! ' 

How  long  the  Colonel's  affectionate  attentions  lasted  can- 
not be  stated  with  certainty.  In  the  Memoirs,  published 
in  1801,  Miss  Robinson  says  that  'the  attachment  sub- 
sisted during  sixteen  years ' ;  and  in  her  Introduction  to 
her  mother's  collected  poems  in  1806,  she  says  that  the 
Colonel  repaid  her  with  neglect  and  ingratitude.  Tarleton's 
history,  gathered  from  other  sources,  may  be  briefly  given. 
In  1782,  soon  after  taking  up  with  Mrs.  Robinson, 
he  was  gazetted  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  Light  Dragoons. 
Two  years  later  he  stood  as  parliamentary  candidate  for 
Liverpool  and  was  defeated.  In  1790  he  secured  the 
seat,  and  sat  for  the  same  constituency  (with  a  short 
interval  in  1806)  until  1809.  In  1787  he  published  a  History 
of  the  Campaigns  of  1780  and  1781  in  the  Southern  Pro- 
vinces of  North  America,  a  quarto  volume  with  a  map  and 
four  plans,  in  the  writing  of  which  he  was  probably  assisted 
by  Perdita,  and  in  which,  by  way  of  return  for  the  honour- 
able mention  CornwalHs  had  made  of  him  in  despatches, 
he  included  what  is  said  to  be  '  a  most  malicious  and 
false  attack '  upon  his  late  commander.     In  1790  he  became 


310  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Colonel,  and  in  1794  Major-General.     In  1798  he  married  a 

natural   daughter   of    the  fourth   Duke   of  Ancaster,   and 

subsequently  became  a  General,  a  K.G.C.B.,  and  a  baronet. 

Mrs.    Robinson's    literary    career    commenced    in    1787, 

although  she  had  twice  previously  produced  a  volume  of 

more  or  less  unsuccessful  (and,  truth  to  say,  unreadable) 

poems.     In  the   summer  of  that  year  she  was  ordered  to 

Brighthelmstone  for  sea-bathing ;   where  she  doubtless  saw 

rather  more  than  she  cared  for  of  the  ascendency  of  Mrs. 

Fitzherbert  over  her  quondam  lover.     One  day  there,   while 

conversing  with  Richard,  son  of  Edmund  Burke,  she  poured 

forth  what  she  solemnly  declared  to  be  an  impromptu  poem 

of  over  eighty  lines ;  which  so  astonished  her  auditor  that 

he  induced  her  to   commit  it   to  writing  for  his  father's 

Register;  where  it  duly   appeared,  headed — Lines  to  Him 

WHO  WILL  UNDERSTAND  THEM.     Whether  he  understood  or 

not,   the    public    understood    well   enough    to   whom    she 

referred  in  such  lines  as  : 

'  Thou  art  no  more  my  bosom's  friend  ; 
Here  must  the  sweet  delusion  end, 
That  charmed  my  senses  many  a  year ' ; 

and  the  undeniable  vogue  which  some  of  her  poetry  had  for 
a  time  was  doubtless  in  great  part  due  to  scarcely  veiled 
references  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  wherein  the  deserted 
Perdita  lamented  in  the  following  strain : 

'  Where'er  my  lonely  course  I  bend, 
Thy  image  shaU  my  steps  attend  ; 
Each  object  I  am  doom'd  to  see, 
Shall  bid  remembrance  picture  thee.' 

It  was  somewhat  overbold,  however,  when  a  lady  of  her 
antecedents  proceeded  to  versify  her  copy-book  maxims 
and  put  forth  a  '  Sonnet  to  Chastity  ' !  In  1790  she  entered 
into  a  poetical  correspondence  with  a  Mr.  Merry,  who  had 
b  een  a  member  of  the  Scuola  della  Crusca  in  Florence,  she 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  311 

taking  the  names  of  '  Laura '  and  '  Laura  Maria/  while  he 
signed  himself  '  Delia  Crusca.'  In  1791  appeared  a  quarto 
poem  entitled  Ainsi  va  le  Monde,  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty  lines  of  which,  it  is  said,  were  written  in  twelve  hours 
as  a  reply  to  Mr.  Merry's  Laurel  of  Victory.  The  modern 
critic  whose  duty  may  call  him  to  peruse  all  this  stuff  will 
be  apt  to  exclaim  with  an  earlier,  though  not  over-polite 

brother  of  the  craft,  that  '  easy  writing  makes  d d  hard 

reading ' !  But  the  public  of  Mrs.  Robinson's  day  expressed 
so  much  approbation  of  her  poetry,  that  she  was  encouraged 
to  try  them  with  a  specimen  of  her  prose  ;  and,  as  it  proved, 
with  an  equally  satisfactory  result.  The  first  edition  of  a 
prose  romance,  called  Vancenza,  or  the  Dangers  of  Credulity, 
was  sold  out  in  one  day ;  although,  as  even  her  daughter 
candidly  admits,  this  production  owed  its  popularity  much 
more  to  the  '  celebrity '  of  the  author's  name  than  to  any 
intrinsic  merit  of  its  own.  In  the  same  year,  1792,  a  volume 
of  collected  poems  bore  the  names  of  nearly  six  hundred 
subscribers  '  of  the  most  distinguished  rank  and  talents.' 
In  spite  of  her  disabling  disease  and  frequent  attacks  of  the 
severest  pain,  her  literary  output  was  considerable,  at  any 
rate  in  quantity.  Amongst  her  subsequent  works,  in  prose 
and  verse,  may  be  mentioned  five  novels — Angelica,  The 
False  Friend,  Hubert  de  Serrac,  Walsingham,  The  Natural 
Daughter ;  three  volumes  of  verse — Sappho  and  Phaon,  a 
series  of  sonnets.  Lyrical  Tales,  and  The  Mistletoe;  some 
translations,  and  a  pamphlet  entitled  Thoughts  on  the  Con- 
dition of  Women.  Many  other  pamphlets  and  tracts  have 
been  attributed  to  her  on  more  or  less  doubtful  authority ; 
and  she  unquestionably  had  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer,  and 
worked  it  most  industriousl}^  to  the  last.  She  made  two 
attempts  at  dramatic  composition,  which  both  turned  out 
failures.  A  little  farce,  entitled  Nobody,  which  she  wrote  in 
1793  as  a  satire  on  female  gamesters,  caused  a  great  uproar. 


312    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

One  of  the  principal  performers  (said  to  bo  Miss  Farren) 
gave  up  her  part  at  the  last  moment,  alleging  that  the  piece 
was  intended  to  ridicule  her  particular  friend ;  and  at  the 
last  moment  Mrs.  Jordan  kindly  consented  to  fill  the 
breach.  But  the  piece  was  so  persistently  hissed,  that  after 
three  nights  it  was  withdrawn.  A  tragedy,  entitled  The 
Sicilian  Lover,  which  she  could  not  get  put  upon  the  stage 
at  all,  was  published  in  quarto  in  1796.  Her  literary  earnings 
must  have  been  considerable;  but  Wordsworth's  motto, 
'  plain  living  and  high  thinking,'  would  have  had  to  be 
inverted  in  her  case ;  and  from  a  letter  in  the  Morrison 
collection  of  autographs,  which  is  printed  by  Mr.  Molloy  in 
his  Introduction  to  the  1894  reprint  of  her  Memoirs,  we 
learn  that  in  1794  she  considered  herself  to  have  been  so 
badly  treated  that  she  threatened  to  depart  from  an 
ungrateful  country  for  ever. 

'Let  common  sense  judge  [she  writes]  how  I  can  subsist  upon 
£500  a  year,  when  my  carriage  (a  necessary  expense)  alone  costs 
me  £200.  My  mental  labours  have  failed  through  the  dishonest 
conduct  of  my  publisher.  My  works  have  sold  handsomely  but 
the  profits  have  been  theirs.' 

She  then  goes  on  to  express  her  disgust  at  seeing  liimn  to 
whom  she  ought  to  look  for  better  fortune,  lavishing  favours 
on  unworthy  objects,  while  '  I,  who  sacrificed  reputation, 
an  advantageous  profession,  friends,  patronage,  the  brilliant 
hours  of  youth,  and  the  conscious  delight  of  correct  conduct, 
am  condemned  to  the  scanty  pittance  bestowed  on  every 
indifferent  page  who  holds  up  his  ermined  train  of  ceremony.' 
It  may  be  admitted  that  the  Prince  did  not  treat  her  very 
handsomely,  either  pecuniarily  or  otherwise.  But  her 
writings  brought  her  in  quite  as  much  money  as  they  were 
worth,  while  of  praise  they  brought  her  a  good  deal  more. 
She  was  called  'the  English  Sappho';  and  indifferent 
occasional  verses  such  as  Ainsi  va  le  Monde  (which  were 


MARY  ROBINSON  ('PERDITA')  318 

reeled  oflf  in  a  few  hours)  and  The  Maniac  (which  is  only 
remarkable  for  having  been  dictated  whilst  she  was  under 
the  influence  of  opium)  were  cited  as  the  foundation  upon 
which  '  the  lofty  edifice '  of  her  poetic  fame  would  rest.  Dr. 
Doran  made  a  list  of  the  eulogistic  epithets  bestowed  upon 
her  in  a  number  of  commendatory  poems  which  may  be 
found  prefixed  to  the  collected  edition  of  her  poetical  works 
published  in  1806.  '  Merry  declared  that  future  ages  would 
join  "to  pour  in  Laura's  praise  their  melodies  divine." 
Peter  Pindar  called  her  "  The  nymph  of  my  heart " ;  Bur- 
goyne  pronounced  her  "  perfect  as  woman  and  artist " ; 
Tickell  proclaimed  her  "  The  British  Sappho  " ;  John  Taylor 
hailed  her  "Pensive  Songstress";  Boaden  recorded  her 
"  mentally  perfect " ;  the  Hon.  John  St.  John  asserted  that 
"Nature  had  formed  her  Queen  of  Song";  Ker  Porter 
saluted  her  in  thundering  heroics;  and  two  theatrical 
parsons,  Will  Tasker  and  Paul  Columbine,  flung  heaps  of 
flowers  at  her  feet,  with  the  zeal  of  heathen  priests  before  an 
incarnation  of  Flora.'  All  this  may  be  commended  as  an 
object-lesson  to  some  enthusiastic  eulogists  of  more  recent 
versifiers,  who  are  apt  to  be  equally  free  with  their 
superlatives  and  prognostications  of  immortality. 

During  the  last  few  years  of  her  life,  Mrs.  Robinson  Uved 
in  a  small  house  in  St.  James's  Place,  to  which  her  literary 
renown  drew  many  admirers.  Her  daughter  hints  darkly 
at  some  entanglement  by  which  her  mother  had  'laid 
herself  open  to  the  impositions  of  the  selfish  and  the 
stratagems  of  the  crafty '  (a  veiled  reference  perhaps  to  the 
unspecified  evil  conduct  of  Colonel  Tarleton),  which,  in 
1799,  forced  her  to  'relinquish  those  comforts  and  elegancies 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed,'  or,  in  other  words,  to 
give  up  her  carriage  and  so  exclude  herself  from  all  society 
or  amusement  except  such  as  she  could  have  in  her  own 
house.     In  the  spring  of  1800  her  physician  recommended 


314  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

the  Bristol  Wells ;  and,  not  having  the  necessary  means  to 
pay  for  her  journey,  she  wrote,  explaining  the  circumstances, 
to  a  certain  noble  lord,  and  entreating  that  he  would  assist 
her  by  repaying  part  of  a  sum  which  she  had  lent  him  in 
the  days  of  her  greater  prosperity.  The  very  noble  lord 
did  not  even  condescend  to  answer  the  letter.  She  there- 
fore had  to  be  content  with  the  quiet  and  the  pure  air  of 
a  cottage  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Windsor.  Here  her 
strength  flickered  up  a  bit ;  and  she  was  able  to  continue 
her  contributions  to  the  poetical  corner  of  the  Morning 
Post,  as  well  as  to  do  some  other  literary  work,  including 
the  writing  of  her  own  Memoirs.  Peter  Pindar  wrote  to  her 
on  the  18th  December : — 

*  I  have  just  heard  that  you  have  been  exceedingly  unwell : 
for  God's  sake  do  not  be  foolish  enough  to  die  yet,  as  you  possess 
stamina  enough  for  an  hundred  j^ears,  and  a  poetical  mind  that 
cannot  be  replaced.' 

But  she  was  exhausted :  and,  after  great  suffering,  she 
expired  on  the  26th  of  the  month,  having  just  completed 
her  forty-second  year.  She  requested  to  be  buried  in 
Old  Windsor  churchyard,  '  for  a  2^ci''^t'i'Gular  reason ' ;  and 
earnestly  requested  that  two  'particular  persons'  might 
receive  a  lock  of  her  hair. 


i   . 


r. 


FROM     A     DRAWING    BY     DOWN  MAN 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('  BECKY '  WELLS) 

Eccentrics  are  plants  that  spring  up  in  all  places ;  but  the 
stage  is  a  sort  of  forcing-house  calculated  to  bring  on  the 
most  luxuriant  variety.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  of 
John  Bernard,  sometime  secretary  of  the  Beef-Steak  Club, 
who  adds  that,  amongst  the  numerous  specimens  of  the 
genus,  both  male  and  female,  whom  he  had  met  with  in  the 
course  of  his  varied  experience,  Mrs.  'Becky'  Wells  was 
unquestionably  pre-eminent.  She  was  an  admirable  actress 
in  comedy;  and  although  she  naturally  suffered  by  the 
comparison  when  injudiciously  brought  into  competition 
with  Mrs.  Siddons,  she  nevertheless  appears  to  have  been 
an  eminently  respectable  performer  in  tragedy.  But,  what- 
ever difference  of  opinion  there  may  have  been  as  to  her 
histrionic  merits,  she  was  generally  admitted  by  her  con- 
temporaries to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  seen  on  the 
stage  during  her  time ;  and  a  brief  recital  of  some  of  the 
fantastic  parts  which  she  played  when  off  the  stage  will 
bring  most  readers  to  agree  with  John  Bernard  as  to  her 
pre-eminence  in  eccentricity.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  at 
one  period  of  her  Hfe,  poor  Becky  Wells  was  actually  insane, 
and  very  properly  confined  in  the  asylum  of  Dr.  Willis  at 
Gretford ;  for  although,  in  her  Memoirs,  she  endeavours  to 
make  out  that  her  confinement  there  was  due,  not  to  any 
mental  derangement  from  which  she  suffered,  but  to  the 
interested  motives  of  unscrupulous  people,  she  herself 
unwittingly  affords  us  the  evidence  for  arriving  at  a 
different  conclusion.     Her  Memoirs,  which  appeared  during 


316  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

her  lifetime,  in  two  volumes  in  1811,  were,  like  those  of  Mrs. 
Bellamy,  put  together  by  herself  with  the  assistance  of  some 
hack  writer ;  and,  like  most  of  the  theatrical  memoirs  of 
the  time,  are  very  confused  in  arrangement,  and  almost 
totally  devoid  of  dates.  Nevertheless,  with  a  little  extrane- 
ous assistance,  we  are  enabled  to  make  out  a  fairly  con- 
nected history  of  her  eccentric  career. 

She  tells  us  little  of  her  ancestry ;  remarking,  with  a  quip 
at  certain  other  celebrated  stage  ladies  who  had  attempted  to 
establish  a  long  pedigree,  that  the  original  founders  of  her 
family  were  probably  Adam  and  Eve.  Her  grandfather  was  a 
poor  Welsh  curate  named  Davies,  who  kept  an  '  academy '  in 
Soho  Square,  had  a  large  family,  and,  '  being  very  fond  of 
pouring  forth  libations  to  Bacchus,  expired  one  day  while 
offering  up  his  orisons  to  the  jolly  god.'  Her  father,  who 
was  the  eighth  son  of  this  poor  curate,  after  being  apprenticed 
as  a  carver  and  gilder,  settled  in  Birmingham,  where  his 
daughter  Mary  was  born  in  or  about  the  year  1759.  Her 
father,  it  appears,  '  had  the  honour  to  attend  Mr.  Garrick,' 
when  David  went  to  Stratford-on-Avon  to  dig  up  the  root  of 
Shakespeare's  mulberry-tree ;  and  the  box  which  was  made 
out  of  the  wood  thereof  was  carved  by  Davies's  partner.  But 
this  partner,  whose  appropriate  name  was  Griffin,  behaved 
like  a  very  dragon.  For,  casting  covetous  eyes  on  his 
neighbour's  wife,  he  lent  Davies  money,  and  then  at  a  time 
when  he  knew  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  latter  to  repay, 
he  clapped  an  execution  into  the  house ;  with  the  result  that 
poor  Davies  was  instantly  paralysed  by  the  shock,  and  soon 
after  went  raving  mad.  Yates,  then  manager  of  the  Birming- 
ham theatre,  persuaded  his  friend  Mrs.  Davies  to  try  the 
stage.  He  kindly  gave  her  a  free  benefit ;  and  she  appeared 
as  Indiana  in  The  Conscious  Lovers;  but  although  the 
audience,  being  acquainted  with  her  circumstances,  was 
very   sympathetic,   she   was   seized  with  stage  fright,  and 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  317 

unable  to  articulate  a  single  word.     Shortly  afterwards  the 
kindly  Yates  introduced  Mary  to  the  boards ;  and  in  boys' 
parts,  such  as  those  of  Arthur  in  King  John,  or  the  Duke  of 
York  in  Richard  the  Third,  she  did  very  well.     When  the 
Birmingham  theatre  closed  for  the  season,  Mrs.  Davies  and 
her  young  family  went  to  try  their  fortune  in  her  native 
city,  Bath  ;  and,  on  the  strength  of  a  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion from  Yates,  the  manager  of  the  theatre  there,  gave  Mary 
an  engagement  at  a  salary  of  live  shillings  a  night.     She 
proudly  refers  to  this  circumstance  in  her  autobiography,  as 
enablinsf  her  to  boast  that  her  theatrical  career  did   not 
commence   among   strollers,  which  was  more  than  a  good 
many  of  her  celebrated  contemporaries  could  truthfully  say. 
But,  '  as  most,  if  not  all,  of  our  first-rate  performers  have 
either  sprung  from,  or  at  some  period  or  other  joined,  a 
strolling  company,'  she  has  no  objection  to  admit  that  she 
also  had  her  days  of  strolling.     After  going  to  York,  where 
she  performed  three  nights  only,  Tate  Wilkinson  gave  them 
a  recommendation  to  a  strolling  manager  named  Butler,  who 
kept    a   company   going    between   Harrogate,   Ripon,    and 
Pontefract.     As  they  arrived  just  when  the  company  hap- 
pened to   be  very  deficient  in  dresses,  Butler  was  glad  to 
engage  not  only  the  daughter  but  the  mother  also,  for  the 
latter  fortunately  had  with  her  quite  an  extensive  assortment 
of  costumes.     After  a  time,  however,  Mary  fancied  she  was 
slighted  in  favour  of  some  relation  of  Mrs.  Butler's,  and  she 
and  her  mother  transferred  their  services  to  another  com- 
pany,  run   by   Crump   and   Chamberlain,   at    Cheltenham. 
While  acting  at  Gloucester,  she  played  Juliet  to  the  Romeo 
of  a  young  actor  named  Wells ;  and,  after  a  very  short  court- 
ship, and  much  against  her  mother's  wishes,  she  and  Wells 
were  presently  married  at  Shrewsbury.     This  was  in  1777, 
when  Mary  was  eighteen  years  of  age.     Immediately  after 
their  marriage,  Mary  persuaded  her  husband  to  send  for  her 


318  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

sister  from  Bristol;  and  the  three  of  them  procured  an 
engagement  at  the  Exeter  theatre.  Shortly  after  their 
arrival  there,  Wells  one  day  sent  her  to  her  mother  with  a 
note,  which  on  being  opened  proved  to  be  to  the  following 
effect : — 

'Madam,  As  your  daughter  is  too  young  and  childish,  I  beg  you 
will  for  the  present  take  her  again  under  your  protection ;  and  be 
assured  I  shall  return  to  her  soon,  as  I  am  now  going  a  short 
journey,  and  remain,  yours,  etc' 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Wells  had  gone  off  with  the  young 
woman  who  acted  as  Mary's  bride's-maid  ;  and  she  never  set 
eyes  on  him  again.  She  wastes  no  words  of  regret  on  the 
absconding  Romeo ;  and  probably  she  was  better  off  without 
him ;  for  she  seems  to  have  been  regularly  employed  at  the 
Exeter  theatre  for  the  next  two  or  three  years.  John 
Bernard  made  her  acquaintance  about  this  time,  and  says 
she  was  playing  the  second-rate  '  walking  ladies,'  or  rather 
'jumping  girls,'  in  the  farces,  who  had  merely  to  say  they 
'love  Charles  dearly,'  or  they  'won't  marry  Mr.  Higgin- 
bottom.'  But,  being  young  and  pretty,  Bernard  chose  her  to 
play  Becky  Chadwallader  in  Foote's  Aufhor,  on  the  occasion 
of  his  benefit.  He  declares  that  she  was  rather  afraid  to 
undertake  the  part  until  he  encouraged  her  by  saying  that 
if  she  would  merely  put  her  thumb  in  her  mouth  and  look 
as  usual,  she  would  fulfil  Foote's  idea  to  perfection.  Her 
success  in  this  character  was  so  great,  says  Bernard,  that  it 
obtained  for  her  next  summer  an  opening  at  the  Haymarket, 
where  she  established  herself  as  '  the  greatest  simpleton  of 
her  time.'  He  adds  that  this  was  one  of  those  sudden 
transitions  from  obscurity  to  eminence  with  which  dramatic 
history  is  so  frequently  marked. 

In  June  1781  she  appeared  at  the  Haymarket,  as  Becky 
Chadwallader,  and  as  Madge  in  Bickerstaffe's  Love  in  a 
Village,  making  an  excellent  impression  in  both  characters. 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  319 

Three  months  later,  she  scored  a  more  pronounced  success 
as  the  first  Cowslip  in  O'Keeffe's  Agreeable  Surprise.  Two 
of  these  names  stuck  to  her  for  life ;  and  she  was  ever  after 
almost  equally  well  known  as  'Cowslip'  and  as  'Becky' 
"Wells.  In  September  and  October  of  the  same  year,  she 
appeared  at  Drury  Lane,  under  Ford  and  Sheridan's  manager- 
ship, as  Nancy  in  The  Camp,  as  Harriet  in  The  Jealous 
Wife,  as  Widow  O'Grady  in  The  Irish  Widow,  and  as 
Jacintha  in  The  Suspicious  Husband.  For  a  young  girl  of 
twenty-two,  she  had  thus  far  done  exceedingly  well  in  her 
profession;  but  of  course  there  were  jealousies  and  bicker- 
ings with  some  of  the  other  performers.  She  relates  that 
when  she  first  attended  rehearsal  for  The  Suspicious  Hus- 
band, MissFarren  came  into  the  green-room,  and,  staring  her 
in  the  face,  exclaimed, '  Good  God  !  ma'am.  Are  you  to  play 
Jacintha  ? '  And  on  receiving  a  reply  in  the  affirmative,  she 
immediately  turned  to  the  acting  manager  and  said  she 
should  throw  up  her  part  of  Clarinda,  as  she  was  sure 
Mrs.  Wells  would  never  be  capable  of  such  a  character  as 
she  had  undertaken.  Stung  to  the  quick  by  such  a  speech 
•from  a  woman  who  had  only  lately  emancipated  herself 
from  the  trammels  of  a  strolling  company,'  Becky  threw 
down  her  part  in  a  rage,  and  instantly  went  off  home.  But 
a  letter  was  sent  after  her  to  say  that  she  was  to  go  on 
studying  the  part,  as  Miss  Farren  must  play  with  her ;  and 
this,  says  Becky,  she  was  obliged,  to  her  no  small  mortifi- 
cation, to  do.  Soon  after  this,  Mrs.  Siddons  refused  to  play 
if  Becky  had  the  secondary  parts;  and  she  reminds  those 
ladies  that  it  would  by  no  means  have  detracted  from  their 
high  reputations  if  they  had  then  condescended  to  give  a 
httle  encouragement  to  a  young  woman  who  was  not  only 
earning  her  own  living,  but  was  also  the  sole  support  of  a 
mother,  a  sister,  and  a  brother.  However,  as  they  did  their 
best  to  debar  her  from  the  secondary  parts,  she  did  her  best 


320  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

to  secure  some  of  the  first ;  and  when  her  benefit  night  came 
round  in  April  1783,  she  elected  to  appear  as  Jane  Shore. 
Fortunately  for  her,  a  crowded  audience  rewarded  this  effort 
with  such  great  applause  that  (as  she  tells  us)  the  managers 
shortly  afterwards  gave  her  the  part  of  Imogen;  wherein, 
though  it  is  a  particularly  arduous  task  for  a  young  per- 
former, she  did  so  Avell  that  Woodfall's  Chronicle,  after 
instancing  the  effect  she  produced  in  certain  passages, 
declared  that  had  her  acting  been  equally  sustained 
throughout,  she  would  have  '  rivalled  the  proudest  on  the 
stage.'  There  is  probably  some  failure  of  memory  in  this 
account;  for  she  does  not  appear  to  have  played  Imogen 
until  three  years  after  her  first  appearance  as  Jane  Shore. 
But  in  1784  she  appeared  in  the  title  part  of  Isabella,  and  as 
Lady  Randolph  in  Douglas;  when  the  Chronicle  said  that 
if  she  had  not  been  already  known  as  one  of  the  most 
original  and  excellent  comedians  of  the  day,  people  would 
have  thought  more  of  her  powers  as  a  tragic  actress ;  and 
that,  if,  after  these  performances,  the  managers  did  not  put 
her  prominently  forward  in  both  classes,  they  would  '  deserve 
to  be  marked  as  the  dullest  dunces  that  ever  blundered.' 
The  Chronicle  also  goes  on  to  inform  us  that  the  scene  in 
Douglas  wherein  Lady  Randolph  faints  came  near  to  proving 
a  fatal  one  for  the  young  actress.  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Inch- 
bald,  who  should  have  supported  Lady  Randolph  when  she 
fell,  was  '  attending  to  her  own  sweet  person,  or  rolling  her 
vacant  eyes  on  the  galleries,'  so  that  if  Bensley  had  not 
sprung  forward  and  caught  her  as  she  fell  back,  Mrs.  Wells 
would  have  fallen  with  full  force  to  the  ground,  and  probably 
fractured  her  skull.  The  danger  was  so  apparent  that  there 
was  a  general  scream ;  and  Mrs.  Wells  was  so  affected  that 
she  remained  in  hysterics  behind  the  scenes  for  half  an  hour 
after.  But  when  the  possibility  of  a  fatal  ending  to  the 
accident  was  brought  to  the  notice  of  Mrs.  Inchbald  after 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  321 

the  conclusion  of  the  play,  that  lady  is  reported  to  have 
calmly  observed — 'Then  we  should  have  had  the  tragedy 
realised.' 

As  already  noted,  Mrs.  Wells's  autobiography  is  remarkable 
for  the  absence  of  dates ;  but  it  must  have  been  about  this 
time  that  she  first  became  acquainted  with  Edward  Topham, 
an  officer  in  the  Life  Guards,  who  had  a  very  pretty  talent 
for  the  writing  of  prologues  and  epilogues.  He  was  almost 
as  eccentric  a  character  as  Becky  herself.  Professionally,  he 
was  something  of  a  martinet ;  and  his  picture,  labelled  '  the 
Tip-Top  adjutant,'  was  a  familiar  figure  in  the  print-shops. 
He  drove  about  in  a  curricle,  constructed  after  a  plan  of  his 
own,  drawn  by  four  fine  black  horses,  splendidly  caparisoned, 
and  followed  by  two  grooms  in  conspicuous  liveries.  His  own 
dress  was  revolutionary ;  for  at  a  time  when  everybody  else 
wore  very  long  coats  and  waistcoats,  and  very  short  breeches, 
that  required  perpetual  pulling  up  to  prevent  them  from 
falling  off  in  the  street,  his  costume  consisted  of  a  short 
velvet  coat  with  large  cut-steel  buttons,  a  very  short  white 
waistcoat,  and  leather  breeches  so  long  in  their  upper  quarters 
as  almost  to  reach  his  chin.  Frederick  Reynolds  found  him 
a  ready-made  '  character '  for  the  stage ;  and  put  him  into 
play  after  play ;  always,  it  appears,  with  Topham's  full  con- 
sent and  approbation.     The  major  used  to  say : — 

'  Now  if  I  were  to  sit  for  my  portrait  to  Reynolds's  name-sake, 
Sir  Joshua,  it  would  cost  me  a  considerable  sum.  But  in  this  case 
I  get  painted  for  nothing ;  and,  without  hurting  me,  my  friend  the 
artist  not  only  materially  benfits  himself,  but  my  likeness,  when 
finished,  instead  of  being  exhibited  in  a  dull  gallery,  for  the  cold 
criticism  of  a  few  solitary  connoisseurs,  is  every  night  displayed  in 
a  crowded  theatre  for  the  gratification  and  applause  of  thousands.' 

His  friend  the  dramatist  certainly  benefited  by  the  proceed- 
ing, for  he  calculates  that  his  profits  out  of  Topham  alone, 
as  depicted  in  different  comedies,  must  have  amounted  to 

X. 


322  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

upwards  of  a  thousand  pounds.  In  a  sketch  of  Topham's 
career  which  appeared  some  years  afterwards  in  the  seventh 
volume  of  Public  Characters,  and  which  Becky  judges  to  have 
been  written  by  the  eccentric  major  himself,  we  are  told,  in 
somewhat  high-flown  phraseology,  that : — 

'  Mrs.  Wells,  of  Drury  Lane  theatre,  confessedly  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  women  of  the  day  in  which  she  lived,  through  the  medium 
of  a  friend,  sent  to  request  him  to  write  her  an  epilogue  for  her 
benefit.  He  naturally  did  not  deny  her  request ;  and  of  course  the 
reading  and  instructing  her  in  the  delivery  produced  interviews, 
which  the  company  of  a  woman  so  beautiful  must  always  make 
dangerous.  .  .  .  What  did  occur  may  be  easily  supposed.  ...  It 
may  also  be  naturally  supposed  that  in  return  for  the  greatest  gift 
a  man  can  receive,  the  heart  of  a  most  beautiful  woman,  that  he 
would  devise  every  method  to  become  serviceable  to  her  interests 
and  dramatic  character,  and  think  his  time  and  talents  never  better 
employed  than  in  advancing  the  reputation  of  her  he  loved.  ...  It 
was  this  idea  which  first  inspired  the  thought  of  establishing  a 
public  print.  It  has  been  said,  more  than  metaphorically,  that 
"Love  first  created  the  TVoiid."  Here  it  was  realised.  Gallantry 
began  what  literature  supported,  and  politics  finished.' 

In  plain  prose,  what  all  this  means  is  that  Becky  (who  says 
she  was  captivated  with  the  beauty  of  Topham's  mind)  went 
to  live  with  him  at  his  house  in  Bryanston  Street,  where  she 
'  became  the  mother  of  two  lovely  daughters ' ;  and  that  in 
January  1787  they  removed  to  Beaufort  Buildings,  and 
established  The  World  newspaper.  According  to  Topham 
this  paper  not  only  '  gave  the  tone  to  politics,'  but,  '  what  to 
him  was  still  dearer,  it  contributed  to  the  fame  of  the  woman 
he  loved.'  It  appears  to  have  done  other  things  besides, 
however ;  for  Gifford  speaks  of  its  unqualified  and  audacious 
attacks  on  private  characters ;  and  Hannah  More  expresses 
her  disgust  at  its  accounts  of  elopements,  divorces,  and 
suicides,  '  tricked  out  in  all  the  elegancies  of  Mr.  Topham's 
phraseology.'  The  World  was  also  the  medium  through 
which   the    '  Delia    Cruscan '    poetry    of    Merry   and    Mrs. 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  323 

Robinson  first  entranced  an  admiring  public.     Through  its 
pages,  day  by  day,  Topham  first  issued  his  amusing  Life  of 
his  friend  Ehves  the  miser  (a  '  serial  story '  which  is  said  to 
have  sent  up  the  circulation  by  1,000  copies  daily)   and  he 
made  an  even  greater  hit  with  a  prolonged  correspondence 
between   the   pugilists   Humphries    and    Mendoza,   on   the 
affairs  of  the  prize  ring.     Topham  would  evidently  be   con- 
sidered an  acquisition  on  the  staff  of  many  a  newspaper  at 
the  present  day.     But  he  tells  us  that  the  labour  of  conduct- 
ing a  daily  paper  for  five  years  was  a  serious  strain  on  his 
constitution.     Becky  thought  that  he  did  not  give  sufficient 
credit  for  her  share  of  the  work ;  and  she  declares  that,  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  time,  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day 
was  borne  by  her.     Certainly  Topham  was  frequently  in  the 
country,  either  at '  Cowslip  Hall '  (a  house  in  Essex  which  he 
had  named  after  the  character  in  which  his  charmer  was 
so  popular)  or  elsewhere ;  and  a  number  of  letters  from  him, 
which  she  prints  in  her  Memoirs,  show  that '  My  dearest  and 
best  Pud,'  who  remained  in  town,  had,  during  these  absences 
at  any  rate,  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  management.     He 
relied  upon  her  to  read  proofs,  to  give  instructions  to  reporters, 
to  interview  people  on  business  matters,  and  to  report  to  him 
all  that  went  on  at  the  office.     On  one  occasion  he  writes — 
'  I  hear  with  great  pleasure  that  the  numbers  of  the  World 
printed  on  Friday  were  2,600.     There 's  credit  for  yott,  you 
old  Pud  ! '     When  she  has  been  ill,  she  is  bidden  to  '  take 
care  of  yourself,  and  when  you  have  been  quiet  some  time, 
take  care  of  the  World.'     She  was  to  attract  likely  contribu- 
tors : — '  Simon  can  be  of  use,  I  see,  and  seems  to  have  a 
knack   of  writing    fashionable   fiddle-faddle;   in   regard   to 
which  you  may  promise  him,  if  he  does  well,  he  shall  have 
the  special  privilege  of  mentioning  himself     She  was  also 
urged  to  continue  certain  contributions  of  her  own,  under  the 
signature  of '  Old  Kent ' ;  some  of  which  he  pronounced  to 


324  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

be  'very   good.'     While  Topham  was  in  the  country,  she 
daily  attended  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  and  dictated 
from  memory  a  report  of  the  proceedings  and  speeches  to  the 
clerks  of  the  World.     Everybody  knows  Macaulay's  glowing 
account  of  that  memorable  State  trial  in  the  Great  Hall  of 
William  Rufus,  '  which  had  resounded  with  acclamations  at 
the  inauguration  of  thirty  kings ' ;  when,  amongst  princes 
and  the  ambassadors  of  great  Kings  and  Commonwealths, 
there  were  gathered  together  grace  and  female  loveliness, 
wit  and  learning,  the  representatives  of  every  science  and 
every  art.     The  historian  does  tell  us  that '  there  Siddons,  in 
the  prime  of  her  majestic  beauty,  looked  on  a  scene  surpass- 
ino-  all  the  imitations  of  the  stage.'     But  he  does  not  tell  us 
that  there  also  sat  Becky  Wells,  taking  in  all  the  details  of 
the  scene,  day  by  day,  and  publishing  it,  in  and  to  the  World, 
each  succeeding  morning.     One  day  Becky's  next  neighbour 
was   a   fashionably  dressed  person,  who  appeared  to  be  so 
fearful  of  contamination  that  she  tucked  in  her  skirts  and 
edged  as  far  away  as  it  was  possible  to  get  on  the  same 
bench.     But  presently  a  certain  Duchess  turned  round,  and, 
after  a  few  civil  words,  requested  to  be  allowed  to  look  at  the 
newspaper  which  Becky  had  in  her  hand.     Seeing  this,  the 
fashionably    dressed   person   presently   edged    herself  back 
again,  and,   with   a  compliment  and  an  insinuating  smile, 
begged  to  be  indulged  with  the  sight  of  the  newspaper  which 
the  Duchess  had  just  returned.     Whereupon  the  indignant 
Becky,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  all  around,  told 
the  toady  she  would  see  her  at  the  Devil  first !     There  also 
occurred  a  little  accident  with  a  bottle  in  Becky's  pocket, 
which  furnished  matter  for  a  column  in  next  day's  Morning 
Post.      The   column   was   headed — '  Trial    in    Westminster 
Hall:  Brandy  v.  Becky,'  and  set  forth  that  Messrs.  Bottle 
and  Brandy  had  brought  an  action  against  Becky  Topham, 
for  that  she,  not  having  the  fear  of  shame  before  her  eyes, 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  325 

did  wilfully,  knowingly,  and  of  intention  aforethought ;  and 
being  instigated  by  the  love  of  liquor,  bring  in  her  pocket, 
into  the  gallery  of  Westminster  Hall,  a  certain  bottle  made 
of  glass,  which  said  bottle  was  filled  with  a  certain  liquor 
called  brandy,  contrary  to  the  rules  and  orders  of  the  said 
Court,  and  contrary  to  the  dignified  character  of  sobriety.' 
The  whole  of  this  jeu  d'esprit,  with  its  amusing  speech  of 
counsel  and  obiter  dicta  of  the  judge,  is  too  broad  for 
modern  taste ;  but  it  is  noteworthy  that  the  person  prose- 
cuted in  the  indictment  is  said  to  have  been  '  lately  married 
to  an  odd  sort  of  a  fellow,  one  Tip-Top,  a  queer,  lusty,  strange- 
made,  ugly  creature,  as  you'd  see  from  York  Town  to 
Ratcliffe  Cross.'  Becky  admits  that  she  did  have  an  accident 
with  a  bottle  in  Westminster  Hall,  but  declares  that  it  was 
an  innocent  bottle  of  lavender  water,  which  she  accidentally 
sat  upon  and  broke ;  adding  that  the  facetious  reporter  of  the 
Morning  Post  may  be  assured  that  had  it  been  brandy  she 
would  have  taken  more  care  of  it ! 

It  was  about  this  time,  according  to  John  Bernard,  that 
Becky  first  began  to  display  her  eccentricities.  He  says  that 
she  loved  to  oppose  all  the  tastes  and  customs  of  the  world ; 
to  wear  furs  in  summer,  and  muslins  in  winter ;  to  improve 
her  health  by  riding  down  to  Oxford  or  Cambridge  in  hack- 
ney coaches ;  and  to  indulge  in  a  number  of  other  vagaries, 
for  which  the  gallant  editor  supplied  the  means  with  his 
purse,  and  of  which  he  defended  the  propriety  with  his  pen. 
And  he  relates  that  when  Miss  Pope  was  one  day  endeavour- 
ing to  reason  her  out  of  some  extravagance  by  asking  her  to 
think  what  the  world  would  say  of  such  conduct,  Becky, 
whose  head  ran  only  upon  Topham's  World,  replied — '  I  beg 
your  pardon,  ma'am,  the  World  never  abuses  me ! '  It  was 
her  own  intrinsic  merit,  however,  aided  by  her  great  beauty, 
and  not  altogether  the  puffery  of  the  World,  which  raised 
her  to  the  position  of  one  of  the  most  popular  actresses  of 


826  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

her  time.     Anthony  Pasquin,  in  his  Children  of  Thespis,  thus 
referred  to  her  in  1786  : — 

'  Come  hither,  ye  sculptors,  and  catch  every  grace 
That  Fate  interwove  in  a  heaven-formed  face  ; 
For  'tis  "Wells,  the  resistless,  that  bursts  on  the  sight, 
To  wed  infant  rapture  and  strengthen  delight. 
When  she  smiles.  Youth  and  Valour  their  trophies  resign  ; 
When  she  laughs  she  enslaves— for  that  laugh  is  divine.' 

Bernard  calls  her  the  greatest  simpleton  of  her  time;  but  she 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  devoid  of  ideas,  for  in  1785,  she 
tells  us,  she  suggested  to  Topham  the  incidents  and  situa- 
tions which  he  worked  up  into  his  farce  called  The  Fool,  a 
claim  which  is  corroborated  by  the  terms  of  the  dedication 
of  the  farce  to  her,  wherein  Topham  acknowledges  that  for 
the  happiest  parts  of  it  he  was  indebted  to  her  judgment  and 
imagination.  In  1787,  when  Palmer  opened  the  theatre  he 
had  built  in  Wellclose  Square,  he  engaged  Mrs.  Wells,  as 
well  as  Quick  and  Mrs.  Martyr,  at  very  good  salaries.  But 
the  winter  managers  of  the  Patent  theatres  determined  to 
crush  their  new  rival,  and  sent  word  to  the  performers  that 
if  they  attempted  to  act  they  should  be  given  into  custody 
for  playing  without  a  licence.  Quick  had  an  accident  which 
prevented  his  appearance  ;  and  the  two  ladies,  having  no 
ambition  to  be  treated  as  rogues  and  vagabonds,  threw  up 
their  engagement.  A  strolling  company  from  the  country 
was  therefore  called  in — and  all  were  taken  into  custody. 
Palmer  then  offered  Mrs.  Wells  £50  a  night  to  give  her 
'  Imitations '  there ;  which  she  did,  for  three  nights,  with 
great  success.  The  Public  Advertiser  said  that  she  gave, 
'not  the  defects  but  the  beauties  of  a  Crouch,  George, 
Wrighten,  Martyr,  Sesthii,  and  a  Cargill,'  concluding  with 
equally  clever  imitations  of  Mrs.  Crawford,  Mrs.  Siddons,  and 
her  own  'Cowslip,'  and  that  never  did  her  beautiful  and 
expressive  countenance  depicture  the  features  of  others  so 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  327 

faithfully.      In  June  1788  tlie  manager  of  Covent  Garden 
raised  her  salary  to  £9  a  week  for  the  next  season,  and  £10 
a  week  for  the  succeeding  one.    In  1789,  Watson  at  Chelten- 
ham and  Hughes  at  Weymouth  offered  her  the  same  terms 
as  were  given  to  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Mrs.  Jordan  for  country 
engagements.     She  went  to  Cheltenham  first ;  and  remarked 
on  the  wonderful  contrast  between  this  and  her  former  visit 
to  the  place.     Then,  she  played  Juliet  in  a  barn,  where  the 
actors'  and  actresses'  dressing-rooms  were  divided  from  each 
other  merely  by  a  torn  blanket.     Now,  she  found  an  elegant 
theatre ;  and  had  the  honour  of  being  commanded  by  their 
Majesties  to  play  Cowslip  on  the  first  night  of  her  arrival. 
Hughes  also  wrote  from  Weymouth  to  say  that  the  royal 
family  only  awaited  her  arrival  to  command  some  play  in 
which  she  excelled.     But  thereby  hangs  a  story ;  to  which  of 
course  she  makes  no  reference  whatever,  and  which  may  be 
here  given  in  the  Avords  of  John  Bernard. 

'Of  all  Becky's  peculiarities,  perhaps  the  greatest  was  her 
imagining  that  every  man  she  saw  or  spoke  to  fell  in  love  with 
her.  As  she  visited  the  public  places,  the  consequence  was  that 
she  set  down  all  his  Majesty's  ministers,  and  half  the  nobility  of 
the  land,  as  her  dying  innamoratos.  But  she  went  further,  and 
wanted  to  make  Topham  call  them  all  out  (six  at  a  time,  in  the 
manner  of  Bobadil)  to  revenge  the  insulted  dignity  of  her  feelings. 
But  this  depopulation  of  all  the  squares  at  the  West  End  was  a 
task  he  declined.  Becky's  malady  reached  a  climax  in  her  suppos- 
ing that  our  late  beloved  and  most  virtuous  monarch  [George  ill.] 
was  among  the  number  of  her  victims,  she  having  been  pointed 
out  to  him  in  the  Park  shortly  after  his  recovery  from  his  first 
mental  attack.  When  the  sovereign  was  advised  to  try  sea  air  and 
water  at  Weymouth,  Becky  followed  him,  hired  a  yacht  at  a 
guinea  a  day  (for  which  Topham  paid)  and  attended  him  in  all  his 
excursions.  This  evidence  of  loyalty,  when  first  observed,  was 
grateful  to  the  bosom  of  the  man  who  was  indeed  "a  father  to  his 
people  " ;  and  he  used  to  exclaim  :  "  Mrs.  Wells— Wells— Wells  ! 
Good  Cowslip — fond  of  the  water,  eh  ? "  But  the  daily  demonstra- 
tion of  her  attachment  grew  at  length  to  be  very  singular,  if  not 


328    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

serious.  Whenever  his  Majesty  cast  his  eye  over  the  blue  element, 
there  was  the  bark  of  Becky  careering  in  pursuit  of  him  ;  the 
infatuated  woman  reposing  on  the  deck,  in  all  the  languor  and 
sumptuousness  of  Cleopatra.  The  royal  attendants  now  began  to 
suspect  her  motives ;  and  the  sovereign  became  so  annoyed  at  his 
eternal  attendant,  that  whenever  he  espied  a  sail  he  eagerly 
enquired:  "It's  not  Wells,  is  iti"  or  on  perceiving  the  dreaded 
boat :  "  Charlotte,  Charlotte,  here 's  Wells  again  ! "  ' 

Bernard  goes  on  to  relate  that  he  had  heard  nothing  of 
all  this  when,  in  the  following  year,  while  he  was  managing 
the  Plymouth  theatre,  Becky  Wells,  in  flying  flnery  of  dress 
and  buoyancy  of  person,  attended  by  a  female  friend  toler- 
ably old  and  ugly  as  an  object  of  contrast,  came  sailing  into 
the  town  in  a  pleasure  yacht,  and  at  once  offered  her  services 
to  the  theatre.  Of  course  her  offer  was  very  cordially 
accepted.  George  iii.  was  expected  in  the  course  of  a  few 
days ;  and  Bernard  naturally  assumed  that  the  king  would 
honour  the  theatre,  in  that  town  as  elsewhere,  for  a  night  or 
two  during  his  stay.  Royal  nights  always  producing  over- 
flows, he  accordingly  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  the 
expected  harvest,  and  went  to  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
enclosing  the  entire  pit  as  boxes. 

'As  soon  as  his  Majesty  arrived,  I  penned  an  appropriate 
address,  to  which  I  obtained  the  signatures  of  all  the  principals  in 
Plymouth.  This  address  was  received  by  Lady  Edgecombe  (one 
of  my  best  patrons)  to  be  laid  before  the  Queen,  who  was  pleased 
to  express  a  gracious  approbation  of  my  exertions,  and  to  enquire 
the  entertainments  I  proposed.  I  enumerated  the  pieces,  and 
(little  suspecting  the  rock  I  should  split  on)  said  that,  in  addition 
to  the  strength  of  the  company,  Mrs.  AVells  of  Covent  Garden  had 
volunteered  her  services.  This  was  reported  to  his  Majesty,  who, 
congratulating  himself  most  likely  on  his  escape  from  her  atten- 
tions, heard  the  name  with  surprise  and  vexation  :  "  Wells,  WeUs  ! 
— Wells  again! — Cowslip's  mad !— on  sea,  on  land,  haunts  me 
everywhere ! "  Lady  Edgecombe  was  then  instructed  to  inform 
me  that  his  Majesty  would  not  visit  the  Plymouth  theatre  during 
his  stay ;  though  the  cause  I  was  left  to  surmise,  or  glean  else- 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  329 

where.  Our  expenses  were  therefore  thrown  away,  and  our 
expectations  laughed  at.  Thus  Mrs.  Wells,  by  her  eccentricity, 
this  summer  cost  me  at  least  one  hundred  pounds,  and  Topham 
two.' 

Soon  after  this,  her  sister  was  married  to  a  young  man  of 
prepossessing  manners  and  good  education,  named  Samuel. 
He  had  been  too  incautiously  assumed  to  be  a  man  of 
means  and  respectable  connections,  for  they  afterwards 
discovered  him  to  be  an  apostate  Jew,  overwhelmed  with 
debt,  and  earning  a  precarious  living  by  writing  paragraphs 
for  the  Morning  Post.  Becky  was  able  to  transfer  him  to 
the  World,  where  he  earned  double  money  ;  but  after  a  very 
little  while  his  creditors  threw  him  into  the  Fleet,  where 
he  had  to  be  supported  by  Becky,  while  at  the  same  time, 
of  course,  she  had  to  find  means  for  her  sister's  subsistence 
outside.  After  some  consideration,  it  was  arranged  that 
Becky  should  release  her  brother-in-law  from  prison,  and 
pay  his  expenses  while  he  learned  enough  to  enable  him  to 
take  a  situation  as  a  surgeon  in  India,  which  her  interest 
was  able  to  obtain  for  him.  In  order  to  do  this  she 
borrowed  money  on  bond ;  and  when  at  length  she  paid  the 
passage  of  himself  and  his  wife  out  to  India,  he  faithfully 
promised  to  repay  her  extensive  loans  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment.  But  he  never  sent  her  a  penny :  and  she 
was  presently  in  trouble  with  her  creditors.  For  some  time 
she  managed  to  avoid  arrest  by  such  stratagems  as  taking 
lodgings,  or  sending  her  servant  to  the  theatre  in  a  carriage 
while  she  slipped  in  by  a  private  door.  But  this  could  not 
be  kept  up  for  ever;  and  at  length  they  got  her  into  a 
sponging-house.  Topham  was  not  in  London,  but  she  sent 
for  his  friend  Frederick  Reynolds,  who  at  once  went  off  to 
the  office  of  the  World,  and  obtained  the  money  necessary 
for  her  release.  After  relating  this,  she  makes  the  astound- 
ing assertion  that  this  was  the  only  pecuniary  obligation 


330  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

she  was  under  to  that  gentleman  in  her  whole  life !  If  she 
meant  Reynolds  instead  of  Topham,  the  ambiguity  of  her 
language  must  have  been  carefully  calculated  to  mislead 
the  careless  reader.  Reynolds,  she  says,  was  the  intimate 
friend  of  Topham,  and  had  been  upon  terms  of  the  strictest 
friendship  with  her  also,  as  certain  of  his  letters,  which  she 
prints,  conclusively  show;  'but  at  the  time  those  pro- 
fessions were  made  I  was  in  prosperity.  His  conduct 
towards  me  since  I  have  been  immersed  in  misfortunes 
convinces  me  that  none  of  them  were  sincere.'  She  declares, 
moreover,  that  he  was  guilty  of  ingratitude,  for  it  was 
entirely  owing  to  her  persistence  that  his  play  of  The 
Dramatist  was  ever  acted,  and  Reynolds  the  dramatist 
consequently  rescued  from  the  obscurity  in  which  he  would 
in  all  probability  have  otherwise  ever  remained. 

The  account  which  Reynolds  himself  gives  in  his  autobio- 
graphy of  his  relations  with  Becky  differs  materially  from 
hers ;  but  it  is  likely  enough  that  neither  of  them  told  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  Nobody,  apparently, 
has  hitherto  identified  the  beautiful  actress  to  whom 
Reynolds  devotes  a  whole  chapter  of  his  Life  and  Times, 
with  Becky  Wells.  He  does  not  mention  her  name ;  but  a 
comparison  of  their  several  accounts  of  an  excursion  to 
France,  and  of  various  journeys  in  England,  places  it  beyond 
a  doubt  that  his  'fair  companion'  was  no  other  person. 
According  to  her  account,  Reynolds  merely  acted  as  her 
travelling  escort  on  one  or  two  occasions,  at  the  special 
request  of  Topham.  According  to  Reynolds's  account,  she 
lived  with  him  for  four  years. 

« She  who,  in  point  of  beauty  [he  says],  was  certainly  the  lead- 
ing theatrical  star ;  she  who  had  rejected  the  overtures  of  half  the 
rank  and  fashion  in  London,  now,  from  some  unaccountable  cause, 
preferred  to  the  whole  crowd  of  pains-taking  aspirants  an  alarmed 
and  nervous  author.     Self-interest,  certainly,  could  not  have  had 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('  BECKY '  WELLS)  331 

much  influence  in  this  proceeding,  for,  as  I  have  before  stated,  I 
could  neither  boast  of  personal  nor  pecuniary  attractions.' 

It  was  apparently  some  time  early  in  1790  that  Becky 
was  arrested;  and  after  her  liberation  was  under  the 
necessity  of  hiding  from  other  creditors.  It  was  at  about 
the  same  date  that  Frederick  Reynolds  was  recommended 
to  go  into  the  country  after  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever. 
He  chose  for  his  retreat,  he  tells  us,  a  solitary  farm-house 
close  to  Netley  Abbey. 

'  There  I  ruralised  ;  but,  like  other  recluses,  not  exactly  alone ; 
—I  was  accompanied  by  the  before-mentioned  celebrated  actress, 
who,  being  suddenly  involved  in  pecuniary  difficulties,  found  this 
dreary  spot  sufficiently  retired,  during  this  desolate  season,  to 
screen  her  from  the  most  active  pursuers.' 

But  Netley  Abbey  in  mid-winter,  and  a  ruinous  farm- 
house, where  'mice  and  rats  and  such  small  deer'  inter- 
rupted each  interesting  tete-d-tete,  were  found  by  both 
Reynolds  and  his  fair  companion  to  be  very  productive  of 
restlessness  and  despondency.  There  were  also  other  causes 
of  discomfort. 

'  Owing  to  my  fair  companion's  fear  of  being  discovered,  she 
never  stirred  out ;  and  this  circumstance,  conjoined  with  her 
mysterious  concealment  of  her  name,  so  excited  our  Hampshire 
host's — (I  might  without  great  injustice  write  Hampshire  hog's)— 
curiosity,  that  one  day  to  a  neighbour  asking  who  we  were,  he 
surlily  replied — "Dang  it,  that's  what  I  do  just  want  to  know; 
and  if,  as  I  suspect,  d'  ye  see,  that  they  be  player  folk,  icod,  I  will 
whip  them  up  before  the  squire  under  the  vagrancy  act."' 

They  did  not  wait  for  this  threat  to  be  carried  into 
execution,  for  it  so  happened  that  they  were  obliged  to 
make  a  hasty  departure  in  consequence  of  the  lady's 
pursuers  having  discovered  her  retreat.  When  they 
paid  the  farmer  rather  more  than  he  demanded,  and  like- 
wise made  presents  to  his  wife  and  his  servant,  the  surly 


332    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

fellow's  feelings  were  somewhat  mollified;  and  as  they 
stepped  into  the  covered  cart  which  they  had  hired  to  take 
them  away,  he  pleasantly  remarked : — 

'  You  see  I  have  no  pride  ;  not  a  bit  of  the  gentleman  about  me  ; 
so  that — (snapping  his  fingers) — for  the  disgrace  ;  and  if  you  do 
again  come  this  way,  and  want  your  old  quarters,  ye  shall  have 
them,  d  'ye  see ;  odraten,  though  I  be  whi])ped  at  the  cart's  tail  along 
with  ye.' 

Reynolds  says  that  they  made  straight  for  Dover,  and 
reached  Calais  in  the  middle  of  March  1792.  Their 
reception  by  the  sans-culoUes  was  scarcely  what  they  had 
expected ;  for,  according  to  his  description,  they  were  landed 
and  thrown  on  to  the  pier  like  dead  salmon  into  a  fish- 
monger's basket. 

'The  moment  we  cast  anchor  in  the  harbour,  at  least  forty 
poissardes,  rushing  into  the  water,  waded  towards  our  vessel. 
Whilst  I  stood  stupidly  watching  their  motions,  about  half  a  dozen, 
who  had  swarmed  up,  without  my  observation,  the  other  side, 
came  suddenly  behind  me  on  the  deck,  and  lifting  me  off  my  legs 
as  suddenly  dropped  me  into  the  arms  of  certain  of  their  fair 
associates,  who  were  standing  breast-high  in  the  water.  In  spite 
of  my  entreaties  and  expostulations,  two  of  my  supporters  bore 
me  triumphantly  to  the  shore,  and  deposited  me,  more  than  half- 
drowned,  and  bursting  with  spleen,  at  the  foot  of  the  perpen- 
dicular ladder  leading  to  the  summit  of  the  pier.  Here  for  a 
moment  I  thought  my  sufferings  had  terminated  ;  but  I  was  soon 
undeceived,  for,  determining  to  conclude  in  an  equally  happy 
style  the  politeness  they  had  so  happily  commenced,  one  of  my 
tormentors,  seizing  my  hand,  proceeded  to  mount,  dragging  me 
after  her;  while  the  other  followed,  banging  and  propelling  me 
behind,  and  otherwise  indecorously  conducting  herself,  as  she  con- 
tinued to  vociferate — "  Mantez,  miserable  / — allez  vitement ! — diphJiez 
done ! " ' 

His  equally  nervous  companion  was  similarly  treated,  and 
arrived  by  this  'light  and  elegant  conveyance,'  bursting 
with  wounded  pride  and  suppressed  indignation.     And  she 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  333 

was  speedly  subjected  to  a  further  indignity.     After  finding 
an  inn,  and  changing  their  wet  and  muddy  garments,  they  sat 
down  at  the  table  d'hSte  with  a  party  of  officers,  or  at  least, 
says  Reynolds,  '  of  people  in  military  dresses.'     Before  their 
meal  was  finished,  he  was  called  from  the  room  to  arrange 
some  dispute  with  the  customs  officers;  and  when  he  returned 
his   companion  had  disappeared.     A  waiter  informed   him 
that  the  lady  had  retired  to  her  private  apartment,  and  was 
most  anxious  for  him  to  come  to  her  there.     He  found  her 
greatly  enraged,  and  evidently  expecting  him  to  avenge  the 
insults  to  which  she  had  been  subjected.     The  moment  he 
had  quitted  the  room,  she  declared,  '  those  sons  of  equality 
and  commonalty,  conceiving  I  suppose,  Sir,  that  I  was  also 
common  property,  one  and  all  rushed  towards  me,  and  I 
only   escaped   their   insolent    gallantries   by  taking  refuge 
here.'     Reynolds   had    to   persuade   her    that   he  was  not 
exactly    the  sort  of  person  to  call  a  whole  revolutionary 
table  d'hote  to  account ;  and  they  concluded  that  they  must 
make  allowances  for  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country,  and 
make  the  best  of  their  situation.     According  to  her  account 
she  immediately   went   to   the   Benedictine   Convent,  and 
agreed  to  become  an  inmate,  paying  a  sum  in  advance  and 
sending  in  her  trunks,  and  was  only  prevented  from  passing 
her  time  there  by  an  order  from  the  National  Assembly  for 
the  destruction  of  all  such  places.     Reynolds  gives  a  some- 
what different  account  of  the  matter.     She  was,  he  admits, 
possessed  with  the  romantic  idea  of  settling  in  a  convent ; 
but  as  soon  as  she  had  been  ushered  by  a  sombre  porter  into 
a  gloomy  parlour  hung  with  tattered  tapestry,  she  at  once 
revolted  from  the  idea  of  such  seclusion,  and  the  dreary 
room  having  at  one  end  a  large  iron  grating  covered  behind 
with  a  dark  green  curtain,  made  her  shudder  and  wish  her- 
self well  outside  again.     Just  as  she  was  urging  Reynolds 
to  escape  before  any  one  came,  they  heard  the  sound  of  an 


334    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

organ  and  the  chanting  of  nuns,  the  dark  curtain  Avas 
drawn,  and  a  dignified  Lady  Superior  stood  before  them. 
Reynolds  mustered  up  sufficient  self-possession  to  blurt  out 
in  broken  French  that  the  state  of  mind  and  health  of  his 
companion  had  made  her  desirous  of  reposing  for  a  short 
time  in  that  sacred  asylum. 

'  The  grande  religieuse  bowing  assent,  with  silent  but  encouraging 
dignity,  I  again  ventured  to  proceed — "  My  friend,  Madame,  will 
most  cheerfully  and  strictly  conform  to  all  your  rules — and  then  the 
terms — the  payment,  Madame  ? " — Here  the  Superior,  casting  on 
us  a  full  penetrating  look,  and  then  withdrawing  her  eyes  and 
raising  them  slowly  and  solemnly  towards  heaven,  as  if  absorbed 
in  deep  contemplation,  I  began  to  fear  that  this  worldly  remark 
had  excited  her  indignation ; — ^when,  at  that  moment,  to  my  utter 
surprise,  she  calmly  and  solemnly  exclaimed — "Pray,  does  the 
lady  find  her  own  tea  and  sugar  1 " ' 

The  fact  was,  adds  Reynolds,  though  he  did  not  know  it 
at  the  time,  those  Calais  convents  were  much  less  like 
seminaries  for  French  vestals  than  preparatory  schools  for 
young  English  ladies,  or  even  Bath  lodging-houses.  How- 
ever, as  soon  as  they  could  decently  get  out  of  the  place,  the 
would-be  recluse  immediately  expressed  a  desire  to  go  to 
the  theatre ;  and  so  long  as  they  remained  in  France,  she 
never  wished  to  see  the  inside  of  a  convent  again.  Beck}- 
says  they  remained  at  Calais  about  two  months ;  Reynolds 
says  three.  But  it  appears  from  a  letter  addressed  by  Topham 
to  Reynolds  that  within  a  fortnight  of  their  arrival  there  he 
had  arranged  with  Mrs.  Wells's  creditors  that  she  was  to 
devote  to  them  £4  each  week  from  her  winter  engagements, 
£3  each  week  from  her  summer  engagements,  and  a  quarter 
of  each  of  her  benefits,  and  that  this  arrangement  made  her 
free  to  return  to  England.  Within  twenty-four  hours  of 
the  receipt  of  this  letter,  says  Reynolds,  they  had  exchanged 
la  terre  du  terrorismc  for  the  land  of  commerce  and  com- 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  335 

fort,  honey  and  money.  Immediately  on  their  return 
she  resumed  her  duties  in  the  theatre;  but,  says  the 
dramatist : — 

'  Within  a  few  months  of  our  arrival  in  London,  the  wild  and 
eccentric  character  of  my  fair  fellow  traveller,  which  had  lately 
been  subdued  by  her  pecuniary  distresses,  again  broke  forth  with 
additional  violence.  In  a  romantic  spot  in  Sussex  she  formed  a 
hermitage,  and,  like  Charles  the  Fifth,  and  Madame  de  la  Valliere, 
she  determined,  in  the  full  blaze  of  her  power  and  beauty,  to  lead 
a  life  of  seclusion.' 

The  circumstance  excited  so  much  interest  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  everybody  so  loudly  and  anxiously  expressed 
a  desire  to  see  the  fair  recluse,  that  she  philanthropically 
resolved,  before  shutting  out  the  world  for  ever,  to  give  a 
masquerade !  She  felt  sure  that  although  few  people  would 
ever  be  induced  to  travel  so  far,  to  an  out-of-the-way  place, 
for  any  commonplace  country  lady's  party,  a  fete  champetre 
given  by  a  hermitess  would  draw  all  the  county ;  and  of 
course  it  did.  Such,  it  is  said,  was  the  effect  her  beauty, 
singing,  dancing,  and  dramatic  talent  produced  on  all  her 
masked  beholders,  that  '  the  charming  theatrical  recluse ' 
became  the  leading  toast  of  the  county. 

How  long  this  seclusion  lasted  we  are  not  informed,  but 
after  no  very  long  time  she  returned  to  London,  appeared 
every  evening  in  a  new  and  popular  character,  exhibited 
herself  every  day  in  Hyde  Park  in  a  new  and  conspicuous 
chariot,  with  four  fine  horses  and  outriders  (at  whose 
expense  is  not  specified),  and  so  increased  the  number  of 
her  admirers  that  at  last,  declares  Reynolds,  her  very 
success  became  a  sort  of  chagrin ;  and  one  fine  day,  to  his 
great  astonishment,  she  swooped  down  upon  him,  told  him 
that  she  had  discovered  the  real  nature  of  her  complaint  to 
be  madness,  and  compelled  him  to  set  off  with  her  on 
a  visit  to  the  celebrated  Dr.  Willis,  at  Gretford  in  Lincoln- 


336  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

shire.  Concerning  this  matter,  her  account  and  that  of 
Reynolds  are  quite  irreconcileable.  He  never  hints  that 
she  was  ever  really  mad,  or  that  she  ever  remained  under 
Dr.  Willis's  charge  in  the  asylum :  but  says  that  he  went 
down  with  her,  according  to  her  singular  request,  when 
Dr.  Willis  treated  the  matter  as  a  frolic,  and  recommended 
a  holiday  at  the  seaside ;  whereupon,  the  same  day,  they 
started  off  together  for  Lynn  in  Norfolk.  But  from  a 
number  of  his  letters,  which  she  prints  in  her  Memoirs,  it 
appears  that  he  corresponded  with  her  while  she  was  at 
Gretford,  from  May  to  August,  in  some  year  not  given,  but 
evidently  1792  or  1793,  and  that  in  August  of  that  year  he 
went  down  (she  says  at  Topham's  request)  to  attend  her  to 
Lynn,  where  they  remained  a  month.  The  reason  for  her 
going  to  Dr.  Willis's,  she  contends,  was  not  mental  derange- 
ment, but  pecuniary  difficulty.  She  had  been  very  ill  with 
milk  fever,  and  Topham  made  what  appeared  the  brilliant 
suggestion  that  by  going  to  Gretford,  she  would  not  only 
improve  her  health,  but  also  be  perfectly  secure  from  arrest 
in  consequence  of  the  report  that  she  was  under  the  care  of 
the  well-known  specialist  for  insanity.  She  afterwards 
came  to  believe  that  this  was  merely  a  diabolical  plot  to 
enable  Topham  to  get  rid  of  her  and  take  up  with  another 
charmer.  Topham  certainly  did  take  up  with  another 
charmer,  and  apparently  never  lived  with  Becky  agam :  but 
there  is  little  doubt,  all  the  same,  that  she  was,  temporarily 
at  any  rate,  not  responsible  for  her  actions.  Topham's 
account  of  the  matter  is  that  in  consequence  of  her  eager- 
ness to  appear  in  a  particular  part  too  soon  after  the  birth 
of  her  last  child,  she  contracted  milk  fever,  which  so  dis- 
ordered her  brain  that  ever  after  chance  and  mad  and 
momentary  impulses  alone  governed  her  actions. 

Dr.  Willis,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  the  somewhat 
irregularly  qualified  physician  (regarded  by  orthodox  prac- 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  337 

titioners  as  little  better  than  a  quack),  who  had  been  called 
in  to  attend  George  iii.  in  his  first  attack  of  madness  in 
1788.  He  seems  to  have  been  as  much  in  advance  of  his 
orthodox  contemporaries  in  medical  psychology  as  Topham 
was  in  journalism.  He  said,  from  the  first,  that  the  King 
would  recover ;  and  he  recommended  a  mild  treatment  in 
place  of  the  barbarous  severity  then  in  vogue.  When  the 
King  did  recover  in  1789,  Willis  returned  to  his  private 
practice  with  a  reputation  so  greatly  enhanced  that  he  was 
obliged  to  build  another  house  near  Gretford  to  accommo- 
date the  numerous  patients  who  were  sent  to  him  from  all 
parts  of  the  country.  Reynolds  thus  describes  the  place 
and  indicates  something  of  the  Doctor's  revolutionary 
methods : — 

'Gretford  and  its  vicinity  at  that  time  exhibited  one  of  the 
most  pecuHar  and  singular  sights  I  ever  witnessed.  As  the 
unprepared  traveller  approached  the  town  he  was  astonished  to 
find  almost  all  the  surrounding  ploughmen,  gardeners,  threshers, 
thatchers,  and  other  labourers,  attired  in  black  coats,  white  waist- 
coats, black  silk  breeches  and  silk  stockings,  and  the  head  of  each 
" bien poudre, /rise,  et  arrange."  These  were  the  Doctor's  patients; 
and  dress,  neatness  of  person,  and  exercise,  being  the  principal 
features  of  his  admirable  system,  health  and  cheerfulness  conjoined 
to  aid  the  recovery  of  every  sufferer  attached  to  that  most  valuable 
asylum.' 

In  one  of  the  farm-houses  on  this  singular  estate,  Becky 
appears  to  have  lived  for  several  months  under  Willis's 
care.  Reynolds's  letters  to  her  (printed  not  in  his,  but  in 
her  Memoirs),  are  full  of  inquiries  after  her  health.  In  one, 
he  urges  her  to  remain  there  patiently  until  her  health  is 
fully  estabUshed:  in  another  he  says,  'I  see  you  are  the 
victim  of  malady ;  for  when  you  are  free  from  disorder  no 
woman  on  earth  has  so  many  charms ' :  and  again, — '  If  you 
returned  to  London,  and  lived  in  the  flurry  and  bustle  of 
theatres,  there  is  great  danger  of  your  disorder  returning.' 

Y 


338  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

On  one  occasion,  evidently  in  answer  to  a  complaint  that 
he  had  not  been  to  see  her  according  to  promise,  he  writes 
to  say  that  she  is  mistaken — '  it  was  Topham  that  promised 
to  pay  you  a  visit  in  the  course  of  the  month,  not  me,  upon 
my  honour ' ;  and  in  letter  after  letter  he  endeavours  to 
keep  her  quiet  and  contented  with  promises  of  an  early 
visit.  At  length  he  says  definitely — '  I  can  now  inform  you 
that  in  the  course  of  five  or  six  weeks  you  may  depend  on 
seeing  me ;  and,  if  you  are  well,  I  will  promise  to  take  you 
a  journey  for  a  month  at  least.  This,  I  think,  will  be  a 
change  of  scene  for  you,  and  absolutely  necessary  for  your 
health.'  Within  the  time  specified,  he  announces  that  he 
will  be  with  her  on  the  following  Sunday,  bringing  her 
clothes  with  him,  and  that  he  hopes  to  find  her  ready  to 
start  at  once. 

In  her  Memoirs,  Becky  briefly  says  that  Reynolds,  at 
Topham's  request,  attended  her  to  Lynn,  in  Norfolk,  where 
she  stayed  a  month.  But  the  dramatist,  in  his  auto- 
biography, gives  a  much  more  detailed  account  of  their 
expedition.  After  dining  with  the  Doctor  and  a  numerous 
company  of  his  patients,  we  are  told,  Reynolds  and  Becky 
posted  off  to  the  place  which  he  describes  as  a  little  village, 
consisting  only  of  a  lighthouse  and  a  few  small  cottages, 
inhabited  by  smugglers,  on  the  wild  and  desolate  north-east 
coast  of  Norfolk.  Being  ten  miles  from  any  market  town, 
and  surrounded  by  a  set  of  drinking  smugglers,  who  might 
be  heard  snapping  their  pistols  and  practising  with  their 
cutlasses,  and  vowing  the  destruction  of  any  spies  who 
might  interfere  with  their  vocation,  Reynolds  soon  began  to 
feel  particularly  uncomfortable.  But  the  lady  took  great 
delight  both  in  the  place  and  the  people ;  and  by  her  frank 
manners,  cheerful  conversation,  and  liberal  contributions, 
soon  made  herself  as  popular  among  the  savages  of  that 
barren  spot  as  she  had  done  amongst  the  beaux  of  London. 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  339 

There,  however,  as  at  Netley  Abbey,  the  wonder  was — Who 
could  they  possibly  be  ?  Some  thought  they  were  spies ; 
others  took  them  for  rich  French  refugees  :  and  at  length 
the  lady  could  not  resist  satisfying  their  curiosity.  One 
day,  writes  Reynolds,  when  she  had  gone  out  gleaning  in 
some  fields  adjoining  the  farm-house,  he  went  out,  about 
the  time  he  expected  her  to  return,  to  meet  her. 

*0n  approacliing  the  field,  I  was  much  astonished  to  see  the 
farmer,  his  wife,  and  all  his  dependents,  and  many  of  the  neigh- 
bouring peasantry,  advance  towards  me,  bowing  and  curtseying 
with  the  most  profound  respect.  The  "Lady  Lavinia"  accom- 
panied this  grotesque  and  outlandish  group ;  and  to  the  increase 
of  my  amazement,  began  with  much  seriousness  and  theatrical 
gesture  to  address  them  in  broken  English.  The  surrounding 
confusion  was  such  that  I  could  catch  nothing  except  the  frequently 
repeated  words  ^^ Dauphin"  and  ^^  Jacobin."  But  not  a  syllable  she 
uttered  seemed  to  be  lost  upon  her  awe-struck  auditors,  who  con- 
tinued to  approach  towards  me  with  ever  lower  and  more  awkward 
obeisances ;  when,  the  farmer  advancing  before  the  others, 
motioned  them  to  keep  back,  and  then  falling  on  his  knees,  he 
hastened  to  disburthen  his  brain  by  exclaiming  in  a  voice  of 
thunder — "  Dang  the  Jacobites  ! — Long  live  the  JJoljjJiin ! '" 

His  companion,  smothering  her  laughter,  hastened  to 
inform  him,  aside,  that  she  had  confided  to  these  simple 
people,  with  the  strictest  injunctions  to  secrecy,  that  they 
two  had  only  just  escaped  from  France,  and  were  no  less 
exalted  personages  than  Marie  Antoinette  and  the  Dauphin  ! 
That,  with  the  aid  of  her  beauty,  and  elegant  appearance, 
and  fanciful  dress,  and  assumed  broken  English,  she 
should  have  succeeded  in  persuading  those  artless  country- 
men that  she  was  the  Queen  of  France,  did  not  greatly 
surprise  Reynolds ;  but  he  says  he  never  thought  to  find 
yokel  so  simple  as  to  be  induced  to  believe,  by  any  persua- 
sion whatever,  that  the  like  of  him  could  possibly  be  the 
youthful   Dauphin.      However,    the    awe-struck    peasants, 


340  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

following  the  example  of  the  enthusiastic  farmer,  pressed 
forward  to  touch  the  hem  of  his  garment,  or  kiss  the  tip  of 
his  finger ;  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening  he  enjoyed 
the  jest  as  keenly  as  did  the  fair  perpetrator  thereof.  But 
the  next  day  they  found  themselves  surrounded  by  all  the 
population  of  the  place  when  they  went  out  for  a  walk, 
and  presently  a  drunken  strolling  manager  from  a  barn  ten 
miles  distant  came  up  and  implored,  not  a  '  bespeak,'  but  a 
'  Royal  Command.'  This  showed  how  rapidly  the  story  was 
spreading ;  and  foreseeing  that  the  first  rational  person  who 
heard  it  would  expose  its  absurdity,  and  involve  them  in 
what  might  be  very  serious  trouble,  they  determined  to  quit 
the  place  quietly  that  very  night,  in  order,  as  he  expresses 
it,  that  by  a  voluntary  abdication  they  might  avoid  a  forcible 
dethronement.  As  an  actress,  Reynolds  remarks,  Becky 
possessed  considerable  comic  talent,  and,  in  some  parts, 
shone  unrivalled  ;  but  he  thinks  that  she  displayed  even 
more  humour  in  real  life  than  in  its  fictitious  representation 
on  the  stage.  Many  years  afterwards,  when  looking  through 
an  old  dusty  common-place  book  of  his  own,  he  found  the 
following  reference,  in  the  handwriting  of  his  fair  friend,  to 
the  state  of  her  mind  during  the  four  years  of  their 
intimacy  : — '  I  am,  and  have  been,  during  the  last  four 
years,  the  most  unhappy  woman  living.  Calais,  April  1st 
1792.'  At  first  he  was  rather  shocked ;  but  on  further  con- 
sideration he  concluded  it  was  only  her  eccentric  way  of 
assuring  him  that  if  he  believed  this  he  must  be  an  April 
fool! 

After  leaving  Lynn,  she  went  to  Thaydon,  in  Essex,  where 
her  children  were  living  under  the  care  of  her  mother.  She 
says  that  after  staying  there  a  week,  she  took  the  children 
with  her  to  Gretford  to  show  them  to  Dr.  WiUis.  The 
doctor  was  away  from  home,  but  his  son,  who  was  in  charge 
of  the  asylum,  knowing  that  she  had  previously  been  under 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  341 

treatment  there,  took  it  for  granted  that  she  was  still  mad, 
and,  sending  the  children  away  in  charge  of  their  governess, 
refused  to  let  her  leave  the  place.  But  she  did  not  remain 
very  long.  Before  the  children  left,  she  had  secretly  given 
one  of  them  a  letter  to  post  to  a  Miss  Hemit  in  London  ; 
and  immediately  on  receipt  of  this,  that  friend  posted  off  to 
Gretford.  Her  story  is  that  Dr.  Willis  at  once  admitted  that 
she  was  not  mad,  although  she  was  '  the  most  violent,  out- 
rageous woman  he  had  ever  seen ' ;  and  that  he  allowed  Miss 
Hemit  to  take  her  away.  However  this  may  be,  she  did  get 
away,  and  went  with  Miss  Hemit  to  Chelsea.  But  before 
the  lapse  of  many  days  a  creditor  discovered  her  retreat,  and 
she  once  more  found  herself  in  the  King's  Bench.  Topham 
wrote  to  Becky's  mother  saying :  '  In  regard  to  poor  Mrs. 
Wells,  she  will  of  course  be  taken  out  on  a  proper  certifica- 
tion of  her  lunacy  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  which  I  am 
putting  in  a  proper  train.  Of  her  madness  there  is  not  now 
a  doubt ;  and  she  is  better  even  where  she  is  than  in  society, 
to  alarm  and  distract  everybody  she  sees.  Miss  Hemit,  who 
got  her  away  clandestinely  from  Dr.  Willis's,  meets  with  her 
due  reward.'  From  which  we  may  presume  that  Miss  Hemit 
was  in  the  King's  Bench  likewise.  So  far  as  we  can  gather 
from  the  Memoirs,  however,  she  got  out  of  prison  without 
any  aid  from  the  Lord  Chancellor ;  and  went  off  to  Dublin 
to  fulfil  an  engagement  she  had  made  with  Daly,  But 
before  she  had  been  in  Dublin  a  week  she  was  arrested  for 
debt ;  and  although  the  money  was  immediately  paid  by  a 
Mr.  Woodmason,  to  whom  she  had  letters,  she  apparently 
never  acted  for  Daly,  but  instantly  returned  to  England. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  the  confused  accounts  of  her 
various  arrests,  mostly  due,  as  she  asserts  again  and  again, 
to  the  difficulties  she  got  into  through  the  borrowing  which 
she  had  done  for  the  sake  of  her  brother-in-law.  On  one 
occasion,  hearing  that  her  sister  had  arrived  from  India,  she 


342  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

assumed  that  her  debts  would  at  once  be  paid,  and  rushed 
up  to  London,  only  to  find  that  her  sister  had  brought  no 
money  for  that  purpose,  and  to  get  herself  once  more  arrested 
and  lodged  in  the  King's  Bench.  The  few  months  which  she 
spent  in  prison  at  this  time  were  rendered  as  agreeable  as 
possible,  she  informs  us,  by  the  attention  of  a  Captain  Black- 
wood, who,  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave,  paid  the 
£1500  necessary  to  liberate  her  also.  She  then  went  to  live 
with  him  in  a  cottage  at  Merton  ;  but  when  he  was  gazetted 
Major,  and  ordered  to  join  his  regiment  in  the  West  Indies, 
though  he  pressed  her  to  accompany  him,  she  refused  '  out 
of  respect  to  my  children.'  Shortly  afterwards,  being  up 
in  London  one  day  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  Frederick 
Reynolds's  play  How  to  get  rich,  a  man  who  had  sat  next  to 
her  in  her  box  informed  her  as  she  was  preparing  to  go  out 
that  he  had  abstained  from  spoiling  her  enjoyment  of  the 
performance,  but  must  now  do  his  duty  in  arresting  her; 
once  more,  she  exclaims,  on  account  of  that  precious  brother- 
in-law.  This  time  she  was  lodged  in  the  Fleet,  and  there 
she  met  and  married  Joseph  Sumbel. 

Sumbel  was  a  very  wealthy  young  Jew,  whose  father  was, 
or  had  been,  prime  minister  to  the  Emperor  of  Morocco. 
He  had  been  committed  to  prison  for  contempt  of  Court, 
having  refused  to  make  some  arrangement  with  his  brother 
about  a  disputed  inheritance.  He  came  into  the  Fleet  in  all 
the  pomp  and  splendour  of  an  Eastern  monarch,  attended  by 
a  large  number  of  Moorish  servants,  and,  of  course,  attracted 
great  attention.  Becky  and  another  lady  had  been  specta- 
tors of  his  arrival  from  a  gallery,  and  Sumbel  had  not  failed 
to  observe  her ;  for  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  she  received 
an  invitation  to  dine  with  him,  and  to  bring  with  her  any 
ladies  she  thought  proper.  Sumbel  was  speedily  captivated, 
and  after  a  short  interval  proposed  marriage.  Becky  was 
very   desirous   to   accept   the   proposal,  but   there   was   an 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  843 

aAvkward  difficulty  in  the  way ;  for  she  beheved  her  husband 
to  be  still  living,  although  she  had  neither  seen  nor  heard 
from  him  for  twenty  years.  Legal  advice  was  taken;  and 
she  found  that  the  only  way  to  ensure  the  validity  of  this 
marriage  would  be  for  her  to  turn  Jewess;  which  she 
accordingly  did;  and  then  she  and  Sumbel  were  married 
according  to  the  rites  of  the  Jewish  synagogue.  The  Morn- 
ing Post  of  October  16th,  1797,  thus  reported  what  it  called 
this  '  extraordinary  marriage.' 

'  On  Thursday  evening  last  the  marriage  ceremony  in  the  Jewish 
style  was  performed  in  the  Fleet,  uniting  Mrs.  Wells,  late  of 
Covent  Garden  theatre,  to  Mr.  Sumbel,  a  Moorish  Jew,  detained 
for  debt  in  that  prison.  The  bridegroom  was  richly  dressed  in 
white  satin  and  a  splendid  turban  with  a  white  feather :  the  bride, 
who  is  now  converted  to  a  Jewess,  was  also  attired  in  white  satin, 
and  her  head  dressed  in  an  elegant  style,  with  a  large  plume  of 
white  feathers.  Mr.  Sumbel's  brother  assisted  at  the  ceremony, 
dressed  in  pink  satin  and  a  rich  turban  and  feather.  The  apart- 
ment was  brilliantly  illuminated  with  variegated  lamps,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  Jews.  The  rest  of  the  company  who  attended 
were  Jews,  in  their  common  habiliments — as  old-clothesmen.  But 
with  the  exception  of  the  guests,  everything  had  the  appearance  of 
Eastern  grandeur.' 

This  is  presumably  a  faithful  account,  seeing  that  the  only 
point  Mr.  Sumbel  thought  it  necessary  to  correct  in  a  letter 
to  the  editor  was  that  he  was  not  confined  in  the  Fleet  for 
debt  but  only  for  contempt  of  Court.  Becky  says  that  four 
rooms  in  the  Fleet  were  lighted  up,  and  the  marriage 
festivities,  which  lasted  for  a  week,  cost  £500.  A  fortnight 
after  their  marriage  she  prevailed  upon  her  husband  to  com- 
promise with  his  brother  by  giving  him  £20,000,  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  done  this,  they  were  both  liberated.  But 
Becky,  like  some  other  persons  in  our  own  time,  was 
deeply  grieved  to  hear  it  said  that  she  had  changed  her 
religion  from  unworthy  motives,  for  the  sake  of  making  an 


344  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

advantageous  marriage,  or  merely  to  indulge  her  love  of 
eccentricity ;  and  on  October  20tli  she  addressed  the 
following  letter  to  the  Morning  Post : — 

'Sir, — In  your  paper  of  Thursday  last  it  was  said — "Mrs. 
Wells  was  always  an  odd  genius,  and  her  becoming  a  Jewess  greatly 
gratifies  her  passion  for  eccentricity."  In  answer  to  this,  I  beg 
the  favour  to  insist  in  your  paper  that  it  is  not  any  passion  for 
eccentricity  that  has  induced  me  to  embrace  the  Israelitish  religion — 
it  is  studying  and  examining,  with  great  care  and  attention,  the  Old 
Testament  that  has  influenced  my  conduct.  Excuse  me  for  giving 
you  the  trouble,  but  I  beg  you  will  insert  the  following  passage 
from  that  book  : — 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts :  In  those  days  it  shall  come  to 
pass  that  ten  men  shall  take  hold  out  of  all  the  languages  of  the 
nations,  even  shall  take  hold  of  the  skirt  of  a  Jeiv,  saying,  we  will 
go  with  you,  for  we  have  heard  that  God  is  with  you." — 
Zachariah,  ch.  viii.  verse  23. 

'  By  giving  the  above  a  place  you  will  much  oblige, 

Your  humble  servant, 

Leah  Sumbel. 
(late  Mary  Wells).' 

They  took  a  house  first  in  Orchard  Street,  Portman  Square, 
in  order  to  be  near  the  Turkish  Ambassador,  and  afterwards 
a  larger  one  in  Pall  Mall,  next  door  to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester. 
But  Becky  soon  found  that  the  life  of  the  spouse  of  an 
Eastern  magnate  had  grave  drawbacks.  So  great  was 
Sumbel's  jealousy  that  if  she  happened  to  look  anywhere 
but  on  the  stage  when  he  took  her  to  the  theatre,  he  would 
knock  her  down  as  soon  as  they  got  home.  And  she  com- 
plains bitterly  that — 

'Though  the  diamonds  I  wore,  of  immense  value,  were  allowed 
me  on  state  days  and  bonfire  nights,  on  my  return  home  they  were 
taken  from  me  (not  in  the  most  delicate  manner)  and  committed 
to  the  care  of  the  iron  chest.  I  was,  upon  no  pretence  Avhatever, 
allowed  to  see  them  except  in  his  presence ;  and  as  to  money,  I 
was  never  suffered  to  receive  even  a  shilling  in  my  pocket  for  fear 
I  should  run  away.' 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  345 

One  day,  the  Moor  would  express  the  most  extravagant 
fondness  for  her ;  the  next  day,  perhaps,  he  would  beat  or 
otherwise  ill-use  her.  Nor  was  his  violence  confined  to  his 
wife.  For  some  little  time  they  lived  as  lodgers  in  a  small 
cottage  near  Hyde,  out  of  fear  of  a  prosecution  for  an  assault 
he  had  committed  on  somebody  else.  To  relieve  the  mono- 
tony of  this  life  for  him,  and  at  the  same  time  gratify  her 
maternal  instincts,  she  prevailed  on  him  to  make  a  tour 
into  Yorkshire,  so  that  she  might  pay  a  visit  to  her  children. 
As  he  was  afraid  of  being  heavily  fined,  if  not  imprisoned, 
on  account  of  the  assault,  they  set  out  in  a  one-horse  chaise 
in  order  not  to  attract  attention.  But  without  his  usual 
magnificent  retinue,  Sumbel  was  more  than  usually  sullen, 
restless,  and  impatient.  He  greatly  disliked  having  to  wear 
clothes  of  European  fashion,  as  they  did  not  show  oft*  the 
graces  of  his  person ;  and  his  only  consolation  was  to  unpack 
his  trunk  at  every  inn  they  stayed  at,  so  that  he  might  sit 
cross-legged,  decked  out  in  all  his  oriental  splendour,  for  the 
admiration  of  landlords  and  servants.  Becky  gives  a  long 
account  of  her  troubles  on  this  journey:  how,  if  an  inn- 
keeper happened  to  touch  her  hand  in  assisting  her  to  alight 
from  the  chaise,  Sumbel  would  storm  at  the  profanation  of 
touching  a  Moorish  wife ;  how,  if  a  servant  rode  too  near 
the  carriage,  or  looked  at  her,  he  swore  at  the  man  and 
threatened  to  knock  him  down;  and  how,  in  consequence 
of  his  dilatoriness,  and  frequent  turnings  out  of  the  route, 
she  at  length  set  off"  by  herself,  without  a  cloak  and  dressed 
only  in  a  muslin  gown,  though  it  was  the  middle  of  winter, 
with  only  two  guineas  in  her  pocket,  to  get  to  her  children 
at  Wold  cottage.  At  length  she  reached  the  place,  where 
she  stayed  one  night  only,  saw  her  children,  and  also  '  the 
father  of  my  children,'  and  then  returned  to  her  husband 
at  Stamford,  after  some  ludicrous  but  most  uncomfortable 
adventures  in  consequence  of  being  without  money.      At 


346  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Stamford,  Sumbel  was  introduced  to  her  mother  and  chil- 
dren ;  but  after  behaving  in  a  most  amiable  manner  for 
a  while,  he  suddenly  broke  out  into  fearful  violence  because 
she  went  out  for  a  walk  with  one  of  her  daughters,  un- 
attended by  her  mother  or  a  servant ;  and  Becky  left  him 
for  a  short  time  to  recover  his  temper  by  himself  Then 
they  returned  to  London ;  and  for  one  whole  week,  she 
remarks,  they  lived  in  the  most  perfect  harmony,  '  nothing 
happening  to  ruffle  us  except  one  or  two  of  the  servants 
being  occasionally  knocked  down.'  But  after  this  calm 
there  soon  came  a  storm.  Sumbel  had  determined  to 
return  to  Morocco,  where  he  expected  to  succeed  his  father 
as  prime  minister.  He  laid  out  large  sums  of  money  in 
presents,  including  a  quantity  (£20,000  worth,  she  says)  of 
brass  cannon ;  and  devoted  a  good  deal  of  time  to  practising 
with  her  in  the  house  in  Pall  Mall  the  various  oriental 
ceremonies  which  they  would  have  to  go  through  on  reach- 
ing Mogadore.  When  all  was  ready,  she  began  to  waver ; 
and  he  determined  to  get  her  away  by  a  ruse.  She  and  a 
lady  friend  were  invited  to  visit  a  ship  lying  in  the  river ; 
but  while  Sumbel  and  the  captain  were  carousing  in  the 
cabin,  the  captain's  wife  indiscreetly  let  out  that  the  ship 
had  been  engaged  by  Sumbel,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of 
sailing  for  Mogadore.  Becky  instantly  got  into  a  boat  that 
had  just  come  alongside  with  some  provisions,  and  persuaded 
a  boy  who  was  in  charge  of  it  to  row  her  ashore.  Of  course 
Sumbel  was  furious.  He  bought  a  case  of  pistols,  threatened 
both  to  shoot  her  and  make  away  with  himself;  and,  as  she 
declares,  one  day  actually  did  fire  one  of  the  pistols  at  her 
as  she  lay  in  bed.  But  she  escaped  from  the  house,  and  had 
her  husband  brought  up  at  Bow  Street  and  bound  over  to 
keep  the  peace;  after  which  she  took  lodgings  in  Covent 
Garden,  and,  in  spite  of  letters  pleading  for  forgiveness  and 
expressing  the  most  extravagant  affection,  refused  to  enter 


MARY  SITMBEL  ('  BECKY  '  WELLS)  347 

his  doors  again.  Finding  that  he  could  not  compel  her  to 
return,  Sumbel  first  endeavoured  to  get  her  shut  up  in  a 
madhouse  at  Hoxton ;  and  then,  failing  in  that,  wrote  her 
a  bill  of  divorce.  All  that  he  considered  it  necessary  to  do 
was  to  hand  her  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  he  had  written  the 
first  verse  of  the  twenty-fourth  chapter  of  Deuteronomy: 
'  When  a  man  hath  taken  a  wife  and  married  her,  and  it 
come  to  pass  that  she  hath  no  favour  in  his  eyes  because  he 
hath  found  some  uncleanness  in  her,  then  let  him  write  her 
a  bill  of  divorcement,  and  give  it  in  her  hand,  and  send  her 
out  of  his  house.'  In  December  1798  the  daily  papers  con- 
tained an  announcement  that — 

'  Mr.  Sumbel,  the  Moorish  Jew  who  about  a  year  ago  married 
Mrs.  Wells,  has  lately  stated  in  a  public  advertisement  that  Mrs. 
Wells  is  not  his  wife,  and  that  he  will  not  pay  any  debt  she  may 
contract.  The  grounds  he  gives  are,  first,  that  the  ceremony  was 
not  a  legal  Jewish  marriage ;  secondly,  that  Mrs.  Wells  was  not 
capable  of  becoming  a  Jewess,  without  which  no  marriage  could 
take  place  ;  and  thirdly,  that  she  has  broken  the  Sal)bath  and  the 
Holy  Feast,  by  running  away  from  Mr.  Sumbel  in  a  post-chaise, 
and  eixting  forbidden  fniit-—x\?^TaQ\y ,  porlc  griskin  and  rabbits.' 

Leah  Sumbel  thereupon  sent  a  paragraph  to  all  the  papers, 
in  which  she  stated  that,  unfortunately,  she  had  been  duly 
married  to  the  said  Joseph  Sumbel,  but,  in  consequence  of 
his  wicked  and  inhuman  treatment  had  been  forced  to  swear 
the  peace  against  him,  and  that  she  now  proposes  to  obtain 
a  divorce  and  maintenance.  She  begs  leave  to  say  that 
although  she  did  set  oft"  in  a  post-chaise  from  Stamford,  she 
was  then  accompanied  by  her  mother  and  her  youngest 
daughter,  and  she  was  forced  to  do  so  because  her  life  was 
at  that  time  in  danger  from  Mr.  Sumbel's  violence.  She 
has  ten  witnesses  to  the  marriage ;  and  she  went  through 
every  ceremony  necessary  to  make  her  a  Jewess  before  the 
nuptials  were  performed.      As  to  the  other  matter — 'Mr. 


348  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Sumbel  himself  eats  pork,  and  even  rabbits,  which  shocked 
Mrs.  Sumbel  much,'  Sumbel  refused  to  pay  the  rent  of  the 
house  in  Pall  Mall  on  the  ground  that  she  had  taken  it ;  but 
when  the  landlord  promptly  sued  for  the  amount,  although 
Sumbel's  counsel  tried  to  complicate  matters  by  making 
him  out  to  be,  not  a  Jew,  but  a  Mohammedan,  there  was  a 
verdict  for  the  plaintiff.  He  was  determined  not  to  pay ; 
and,  having  already  had  experience  of  the  Fleet  prison,  he 
at  once  drew  out  all  the  money  at  his  bankers,  hurriedly 
procured  a  passport  from  the  Duke  of  Portland,  and  set  sail 
for  Denmark  within  a  few  hours.  Becky  never  saw  him  or 
heard  from  him  again.     But  she  says, — 

'  I  have  since  learned  from  a  gentleman  that  he  went  to  Altona 
in  Denmark,  where  he  built  a  large  street  at  his  own  expense  ;  and 
that,  for  the  last  years  of  his  life,  his  sole  amusement  was  fishing ; 
but  the  place  where  he  enjoyed  that  amusement  was  rather 
singular.  He  had  a  very  long  room  built  for  the  purpose,  in 
which  was  a  large  reservoir  of  water  that  contained  fish  of  different 
descriptions ;  and  he  would  sit  whole  days  angling  in  it.  If  the 
fish  did  not  bite  quick  enough  to  suit  his  Moorish  temper,  the 
water  was  let  off,  and  they  were  beaten  to  pieces  with  a  large  stick.' 

Becky  opines  that  if  the  rest  of  the  Moors  are  of  his  dis- 
position, they  must  be  very  unhappy  people ;  but  it  is  rather 
singular  that  she  did  not  see  he  was  as  mad  as  a  March  hare, 
and  that,  by  the  aid  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  she  might  have 
put  him  into  a  madhouse,  and  had  provision  made  for  her- 
self out  of  his  property. 

Of  the  remaining  years  of  her  life  there  are  only  very 
fragmentary  and  confused  records.  As  soon  as  Sumbel  had 
disappeared  her  creditors  came  forward  with  suits  against 
her,  and  she  once  more  made  acquaintance  with  the  Fleet ; 
being  after  a  time  liberated  through  the  kindness  of  a 
gentleman,  whose  name  is  not  given,  but  who  had  been  a 
visitor  at  her  house  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity.     Then 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  349 

her  sister  returned  from  India,  and  for  about  a  year  and  a 
half,  apparently  during  1799  and  1800,  she  lived  with  that 
lady  in  comfort  and  happiness.  In  the  summer  of  the  latter 
year  she  went  down  to  Brighton,  to  give  her  Imitations 
there  under  the  patronage  of  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough, 
and  she  remained  there  for  some  little  time.  But  just  as 
she  was  on  the  point  of  setting  out  for  Lewes  to  give  the 
Imitations  there,  she  was  arrested  at  the  suit  of  a  Welbeck 
Street  milliner  (not  the  brother-in-law,  for  a  wonder,  this 
time,  she  remarks),  and  lodged  in  the  county  gaol  at 
Horsham  until  the  return  post  brought  funds  from  London 
for  her  release.  Then  she  got  an  engagement  to  play  for 
six  nights  for  Stephen  Kemble  at  Newcastle ;  and  although 
she  injured  one  of  her  legs  by  falling  over  a  scuttle  on  the 
sailing  smack  which  took  her  there,  she  managed,  after  a 
short  period  of  rest,  to  play  Isabella,  and  to  give  her 
Imitations.  But  at  this  place  the  latter  did  not  prove  a 
success.  She  was  continually  interrupted,  and  at  length  a 
man, '  who  from  his  appearance  seemed  to  have  just  made 
his  escape  from  a  coal-mine,'  called  out  from  the  gallery  in 
a  stentorian  voice — '  Who  is  that  you  are  imitating  now  ? ' 
This  was  too  much  for  Becky  ;  her  irritable  temper  burst 
forth,  and  after  replying  with  withering  emphasis,  'Don't 
you  know,  Mr.  coal-heaver  ? '  she  made  her  exit  in  a  rage, 
and  never  afterwards  appeared  before  an  audience  in  that 
city.  '  It  was  the  only  place  in  England,'  she  declares, 
'  where  I  gave  my  Imitations  that  they  were  not  under- 
stood.' Her  next  resolution  was  to  live  at  Scarborough, 
'upon  the  trifling  pittance  allowed  me,'  in  order  that  she 
might  end  her  days  in  the  neighbourhood  of  her  children. 
Reynolds  and  other  friends  always  speak  of  these  daughters 
with  great  admiration.  They  are  said  to  have  been  nearly 
as  beautiful  as  their  mother,  and  to  have  been  reckoned  the 
best  horsewomen  in  Yorkshire.  But  Becky  charges  them  with 


350  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

the  blackest  ingratitude.  They  now  lived  with  their  father 
at  Wold  Cottage,  near  Thring,  in  the  East  Riding ;  and  she 
set  off  to  walk  thither,  a  distance  of  sixteen  miles,  accom- 
panied by  her  maid,  and  carrying  her  wardrobe  in  a  small 
bundle.  After  walking  about  three  miles  she  met  her  three 
girls  riding  horseback  with  a  groom  behind  them.  The  eldest 
girl  made  the  others  ride  on  at  a  gallop  with  the  servant,  while 
she  stopped  to  say  they  were  going  to  Scarborough  to  order 
some  ball  dresses,  but  that  if  her  mother  would  walk  on  some 
thirteen  miles  farther  to  a  certain  inn,  they  would  pay  her 
a  visit  on  their  return.  After  this  visit,  however,  Topham 
interfered  and  interdicted  any  further  communications,  so 
that  after  poor  Becky  had  wandered  daily  about  the  country 
till  her  only  pair  of  shoes  were  worn  off  her  feet,  in  the  vain 
hope  of  catching  even  a  distant  view  of  her  children,  she  at 
length  determined  to  return  to  London.  While  she  was 
living  thus  (apparently  in  1804)  at  a  farm-house  on  the 
Wolds,  paying  half  a  guinea  a  week  for  her  board,  and 
latterly  without  shoes  to  her  feet,  it  was  currently  reported 
in  London  (of  course  quite  without  her  knowledge)  that  she 
was  then  living  under  the  protection  of  an  illustrious 
personage  at  Kew.  In  consequence  of  this,  when  she  re- 
turned she  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  herself  warmly 
received  by  all  her  acquaintance.  She  was  waited  upon,  she 
says,  by  people  whom  she  would  as  soon  have  expected  to 
call  as  the  Great  Mogul  or  the  Cham  of  Tartary.  Trades- 
people flocked  to  beg  her  custom,  and,  most  mysterious 
thing  of  all,  petitions  for  favours  poured  in  upon  her  from 
all  quarters. 

'Going  one  day  into  a  jeweller's  shop  about  some  trifle,  the  man 
received  me  with  the  most  marked  politeness,  and  pressed  me  to 
take  a  pair  of  diamond  earrings  of  great  value.  I  assured  him  I 
should  never  be  able  to  pay  for  them,  when  with  a  significant  nod 
and  insignificant  grin,  to  which  I  had  lately  been  so  accustomed, 
he  assured  me  I  might  command  all  in  his  shop  if  1  pleased.' 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  351 

At  last  the  mystery  was  solved  by  her  discovery  that  a 
person  whose  features  somewhat  resembled  hers  had 
assumed  her  name,  and  was  living  near  the  royal  residence 
at  Kew.  Her  brother-in-law,  'now,'  for  some  reason  un- 
specified, stopped  the  allowance  of  a  guinea  a  week  which  he 
had  been  induced  to  make  by  way  of  repaying  his  old  debt 
to  her  ;  and  in  order  to  make  a  little  money  she  determined 
to  write  her  own  Memoirs.  '  Now,'  is  frequently  the  only 
date  that  Mrs.  Sumbel  favours  us  with ;  but  from  a  notice 
in  one  of  the  newspapers  it  appears  that  her  Memoirs  were 
announced  as  in  preparation  in  December  1806,  when  she 
was  living  at  No.  6  George  Street,  Adelphi.  Many  of  the 
nobility  and  gentry  subscribed  for  the  book ;  but  the  author 
and  her  semi-clerical  assistant  must  have  been  somewhat 
dilatory  over  their  task,  for  the  two  volumes  did  not  appear 
until  after  the  lapse  of  five  years.  One  of  her  applications 
for  a  subscription  met  with  a  rather  odd  response. 

'  Among  the  number  to  whom  I  applied  to  subscribe  I  sent  to 
Dr.  Moseley,  as  he  had  often  been  at  our  house,  and  I  did  not  for 
a  moment  conceive  that  he  would  refuse,  when,  to  my  utter 
astonishment,  I  received  a  letter  from  him  with  a  prescription 
in  it.  Curiosity  induced  me  to  go  to  an  apothecary  to  learn 
what  the  composition  was  to  be  which  I  was  to  take  in  lieu  of  my 
subscription  money.  He  informed  me  it  was  the  tincture  of  fox- 
glove, and  was  used  to  lessen  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  .  .  . 
Whether  Dr.  Moseley  directed  a  wrong  letter  to  me — whether  he 
thought  subscription  and  prescription  were  synonymous  terms — or 
whether  he  conceived  one  of  his  prescriptions  would  cure  anything 
(even  an  empty  pocket),  I  do  not  know,  for  I  never  thought  it 
worth  while  to  send  to  him  to  enquire.' 

But  if  she  thought  that  subscriptions  would  be  forth- 
coming in  sufiicient  amount  to  support  her  while  she  com- 
posed the  book,  she  must  have  been  grievously  disappointed. 
In  a  short  time  she  was  obliged  to  apply  to  the  Theatrical 
Fund  for  relief  (which  was  at  once  granted  her) ;  and,  by 


352  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

way  of  a  further  subsidy,  she  determined  on  getting  up  a 
play,  for  the  performance  of  which  Colman  generously  lent 
her,  for  one  night,  the  Haymarket  Theatre.  A  Mr.  Johnson 
undertook  the  management,  as  well  as  to  answer  for  the 
expenses  of  the  night ;  and  Jane  Shore  was  played  for  her 
benefit  by  a  number  of  amateurs. 

'  Never  was  there  a  more  comic  tragedy  !  No  property-man  or 
manager,  from  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  had  a  more  arduous  task. 
The  part  of  Gloster  was  undertaken  by  the  surgeon  of  a  man-of- 
war.  When  the  property-man  brought  him  the  dress  necessary 
for  the  part,  he  loudly  vociferated  for  stockings,  but  was  informed 
by  him  he  never  supplied  noblemen  of  his  high  rank  with  such 
things.  They  were  at  length  obtained;  but  he  was  with  great 
difficulty  prevailed  upon  to  permit  the  man  to  stuff  some  cloth 
inside  them  to  deform  his  legs,  as  he  had  ever  considered  them 
well  made,  and  had  a  great  wish  to  sport  them  that  night  before 
the  audience.  Being  at  length  dressed,  the  manager  represented 
to  him  the  necessity  of  having  a  hump  on  his  back ;  but  to  that  he 
would  by  no  means  consent.  He  said  it  was  not  the  Duke  of 
Gloster  that  was  hump-backed,  but  Richard  the  Third ;  and  if  his 
messmates  were  to  see  him  rigged  in  such  a  manner,  he  should 
never  have  any  peace  in  the  ward-room: — "See,  sir,"  said  he  to 
the  manager,  "  what  a  figure  the  fellow  has  already  made  of 
my  legs  !  "  ' 

However,  when  these  and  a  number  of  similar  difficulties 
were  at  length  satisfactorily  settled,  the  play  went  on,  and 
was  well  received.  She  says  that  the  part  of  Alicia  was  very 
ably  performed  by  a  lady  who  had  only  been  instructed  for 
that  night ;  that  of  Shore  by  a  Mr.  Howard,  who  went 
through  it  extremely  well,  and  that  of  Belmont  b}^  another 
friend,  who  was  '  as  good  a  performer  as  any  independent 
man  need  be.'  The  main  point  appears  to  have  been  gained, 
for  there  was  a  pretty  full  house,  and  we  may  presume  that 
she  made  a  comfortable  little  sum  of  money. 

After  she  had  arranged  for  the  publication  of  her  Memoirs, 
she  went  to  Scotland  in  one  of  the  Leith  smacks,  proposing 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  353 

to  give  her  Imitations  in  the  Edinburgh  Theatre.  But 
Henry  Siddons  refused  her  application  to  perform  them;  and 
when  remittances  (as  thej?^  had  a  habit  of  doing)  failed  to  arrive 
from  London,  she  was  forced  to  take  refuge  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  Holyrood  House,  where  debtors  Avere  protected 
from  arrest.  But  it  soon  came  to  her  ears  that  she  was 
likely  to  be  taken  out  of  this  insolvents'  asylum  by  a 
process  in  Scotch  law  called  fugee  warrant;  so  she 
promptly  made  her  escape  by  crossing  the  park  one 
morning  without  attracting  observation,  and  setting  off  to 
walk  the  four  hundred  miles  to  London.  '  I  assure  my 
readers,'  she  writes, '  that  I  made  the  attempt.'  According 
to  this  account  (which  it  is  to  be  presumed  she  inserted 
in  the  Memoirs  as  they  were  passing  through  the  press),  the 
weather  was  fine,  and  the  people  she  met  civil  and  obliging. 
She  lived  chiefly  upon  eggs  obtained  in  the  various  villages 
she  passed  through,  and  she  declares  that  not  only  were 
they  the  pleasantest  meals  she  ever  ate  in  her  life,  but  '  I 
did  them  so  much  justice  that  I  am  positive  the  brood  of 
chickens  in  that  part  of  the  country  through  w^hich  I  passed 
cannot  be  very  abundant  next  year.'  On  the  second  day  of 
her  tramp  she  reached  Berwick-upon-Tweed,  and  on  'the 
fourth  day  and  a  half  after  leaving  Edinburgh  she  walked 
into  Newcastle,  where  she  gave  in,  and  took  shipping  for 
London.  She  then  lodged  for  a  time  in  the  house  of  a  man, 
named  Mariner,  in  Rider  Street,  St.  James's;  but,  her 
money  running  short,  Mariner  had  her  arrested  as  soon  as 
her  bill  amounted  to  the  sum  for  which  the  English  law  at 
that  time  allowed  an  arrest  to  be  made.  Within  three  days 
she  regained  her  liberty,  and  resolved  to  be  even  with  ]\lr. 
Mariner.  ^Vhat  she  did  to  the  man  must  be  left  to  the 
reader's  imagination ;  all  she  tells  us  is  that — 

'as  soon  as  I  was  free  I  returned  to  the  same  lodgings  to  finish 
the  week,  as  it  had  been  begun  by  my  going  there  on  Monday 

z 


354  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

morning.  He  charged  for  it  in  his  bill,  so  that  I  was  determined 
to  see  it  out ;  and  for  the  few  days  I  remained  there,  I  rather  think 
he  had  reason  to  regret  his  conduct  to  me  ! ' 

The  last  public  appearance  that  we  hear  of  her  making- 
was  in  1807,  when  she  gave  her  Imitations  at  the  minor 
theatre  in  Catherine  Street,  Strand.  The  performance  was 
highly  spoken  of  in  some  of  the  papers,  and  she  was,  we  are 
told,  received  with  '  the  most  enraptured  applause  from  a 
crowded  and  fashionable  audience.'  Latterly,  her  only  con- 
solation was  to  go  to  the  play ;  and  she  got  herself  placed 
on  the  free  list  of  Drury  Lane,  Covent  Garden,  and  the 
Haymarket.  She  acknowledges  many  kindnesses  from 
Michael  Kelly,  whose  table,  'when  I  had  not  one  of  my 
own,  has  always  been  open  to  me.'  And  for  some  years 
past  she  has  been  rendered  tolerably  comfortable  by  the 
goodness  of '  a  gentleman  and  a  female  relation  of  his,'  who 
appear  to  have  been  City  folks  living  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  Royal  Exchange.  Before  the  publication  of  her 
Memoirs  she  had  been  re- converted  to  Christianity. 
Having  gone  through  '  every  scene  of  trouble  which  human 
nature  is  capable  of  bearing,'  she  writes,  in  conclusion,  that 
she  is  now  endeavouring  to  compose  her  mind  for  the 
inevitable  end.  With  this  object  in  view,  she  had  applied 
to  several  teachers  of  the  Gospel  for  advice.  The  dissenters 
rather  bewildered  than  convinced  her.  She  gave  a  fair  and 
patient  hearing  to  the  Methodists,  but  they  also  failed  to 
satisfy  her.  Then  she  turned  to  the  Roman  Catholics,  and 
it  was  apparently  by  them  that,  '  as  a  repentant  sinner,'  she 
was  again  received  into  the  bosom  of  the  Christian  Church. 
The  last  glimpse  that  we  get  of  her  exhibits  no  trace  of  this 
sanctimoniousness.  From  the  time  of  the  publication  of 
her  Memoirs  in  1811  until  1821,  she  disappears  from  view. 
But  in  the  latter  year  John  Bernard,  just  returned  from 
America,  encountered  her  in  the  street  leading  to  West- 
minster Bridge. 


MARY  SUMBEL  ('BECKY'  WELLS)  355 

'  Though  old  and  faded,  she  was  still  buoyant  and  loquacious. 
A  young,  rough-looking  male  companion  Avas  with  her,  whom  she 
instantly  quitted  to  welcome  me  home.  After  about  five  minutes' 
conversation  on  past  and  present  times,  I  begged  not  to  keep  her 
from  her  friend  any  longer.  "  Friend  ! "  she  replied,  putting  a 
construction  on  the  word  which  I  by  no  means  intended.  "He's 
no  friend  !  he 's  my  husband."  It  was  now  my  turn  to  stare ;  and 
I  inquired  whether  he  was  in  the  profession.  She  took  him  by 
the  hand,  and  dancing  up  to  me  through  the  stream  of  coal- 
heavers,  porters,  and  men  of  business  that  were  passing,  sang  with 
great  good-humour : 

' "  And  haven't  you  heard  of  the  jolly  young  waterman, 
That  at  Westminster  Bridge  used  to  ply  ? " ' 

'  Vale  Becky,'  adds  Bernard ;  and  for  us  it  is  vale  likewise. 
For,  although  in  John  O'KeefFe's  Recollections,  published  in 
1826,  there  is  a  brief  reference  intimating  that  his  original 
'  Cowslip '  was  then  dead,  we  do  not  know  what  became  of 
her  in  the  meantime,  nor  when,  or  in  what  circumstances, 
she  died. 


DORA  JORDAN 

If  it  be  true,  as  Hazlitt  asserted,  that  Fame,  while  forgetting 
one  by  one,  and  year  by  year,  those  who  have  been  great 
lawyers,  great  statesmen,  and  great  warriors  in  their  day, 
has  generally  been  particularly  careful  of  the  renown  of  her 
theatrical  favourites,  that  trumpet-blowing  goddess  made 
one  exception,  at  any  rate,  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Jordan.  And 
it  is  by  no  means  easy  to  see  why  she  should  have  done  so. 
For  not  only  did  Mrs.  Jordan  draw  crowded  houses  for  a 
period  of  something  like  thirty  years,  not  only  did  her 
comedy  eclipse  for  a  time  even  the  tragedy  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 
not  only  was  she,  according  to  the  judgment  of  so  discrimi- 
nating a  critic  as  Leigh  Hunt,  the  first  actress  of  her  day, 
and  perhaps  also  the  first  of  all  who  have  at  any  time 
adorned  the  English  stage ;  but  in  addition  to  all  this,  her 
private  life  was  known  to  have  been  a  curiously  romantic  one, 
and  to  have  come  to  a  strange,  mysterious,  and  even  tragic 
end.  Perhaps  her  biographers  have  helped  to  obscure  her 
reputation.  Her  Life  by  James  Boaden,  which  appeared, 
in  two  volumes  in  1831,  was  a  confused  and  unsatisfactory 
performance.  And  a  smaller  book  which  appeared  about 
the  same  date,  and  was  reprinted  some  fifty  years  later, 
entitled  The  Public  and  Private  Life  of  that  Celebrated 
Actress,  Miss  Bland,  otherwise  Mrs.  Ford,  or  Mrs.  Jordan, 
.  .  .by  a  Confidential  Friend  of  the  Departed,  although  it  was 
incorporated  almost  in  extenso  in  Huish's  History  of  the 
Life  and  Reign  of  William  IV.,  was  a  mere  catch-penny 
publication,  put  together  by  some  one  who,  whatever  may 

350 


~ZJ:>tay^Zytci^^ 


FROM    THE    ENGRAVING    BY    ENGLEHEART   OF   THE    PORTRAIT   BY   MORLAND 


DORA  JORDAN  357 

have  been  his  source  of  information,  had  little  skill  in 
making  use  of  his  materials,  but  who  inevitably  spoiled  the 
market  for  a  better  and  more  authentic  memoir.  From 
these  sources,  however,  supplemented  by  some  other  inci- 
dental contemporary  records,  we  may  perhaps  piece  together 
as  much  of  the  history  of  this  fascinating  actress  and 
unfortunate  w^oman  as  is  now  ever  likely  to  be  known; 
unless,  indeed,  the  following  recital  should  induce  some  of 
the  descendants  of  her  numerous  family  to  state  the  real 
reason  for  her  separation  from  the  Duke  of  Clarence  in 
1811,  to  give  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  poverty  and 
exile  of  her  later  days,  and  to  clear  up  the  mystery  which  at 
present  surrounds  her  end.  The  contemporary  '  romance ' 
(as-  it  is  called)  of  Mrs.  Fitzherbert  and  George  iv. — whose 
final  separation  took  place  in  the  same  year  as  that  of 
Mrs.  Jordan  from  the  Duke  of  Clarence — has  recently  been 
authoritatively  elucidated,  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  Mrs. 
Fitzherbert's  character;  and,  although  the  matter  cannot 
be  said  to  be  one  of  any  historical  importance,  it  is  certainly 
not  fair  that,  merely  because  she  was  a  common  actress 
instead  of  a  lady  of  good  birth  and  position,  a  similar 
measure  of  justice  should  not  be  meted  out  to  Mrs.  Jordan. 

'  Thalia,'  as  Mrs.  Jordan's  admirers  delighted  to  call  her, 
was  born  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Waterford  in  1762.  Her 
mother  was  one  of  three  daughters  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Phillips, 
who,  one  after  another,  took  to  the  stage.  Her  father, 
according  to  one  account,  was  a  Captain  Bland,  whose 
friends  disowned  him  on  account  of  his  marriage  with  an 
actress.  The  '  Confidential  Friend '  says  that  Grace  Phillips 
eloped  with  this  Captain  Bland,  by  whom  she  had  nine 
children ;  and  that  it  was  in  consequence  of  his  family's 
refusal  of  supplies  that  he  and  his  wife  took  to  the  stage. 
The  same  author  also  asserts  that  the  Captain's  father 
managed  to  get  his  son's  marriage  invalidated,  whereupon 


358  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

that  gallant  officer  abandoned  his  nine  children  and  their 
mother,  married  a  lady  of  fortune,  and  was  subsequently 
promoted  to  a  colonelcy.  All  that  is  otherwise  known  of 
him,  however,  is  that  in  1777,  when  his  daughter  was  play- 
ing in  Cork,  the  '  Captain '  obtained  employment  as  a  scene- 
shifter  in  the  same  theatre.  It  was  in  her  sixteenth  year, 
after  being  employed  as  a  milliner's  assistant  in  Dame 
Street,  that  Dorothy,  or  Dora,  Bland,  taking  the  stage  name 
of '  Miss  Francis,'  made  her  debut  at  the  Dublin  theatre,  as 
Phoebe  in  As  You  Like  It.  Her  reception,  if  not  enthusi- 
astic, was  encouraging ;  and  Sir  Jonah  Barrington,  who  saw 
her  act  frequently  at  this  early  period,  described  her  as  joy- 
ous, animated,  and  droll ;  with  a  laugh  that  arose  from  her 
heart,  and  a  tear  that  started  ingenuously  from  her  feeling ; 
accomplishments  which,  together  with  her  expressive, 
though  not  particularly  beautiful  face,  her  light,  elastic  form, 
flexible  limbs,  and  juvenile  grace  of  movement,  made  a 
pronounced  impression  on  all  who  attended  her  perfor- 
mances. Richard  Daly,  manager  of  the  Dublin  theatre, 
took  her  to  Waterford,  where  she  made  her  first  appearance 
in  a  male  part ;  and  she  afterwards  went  to  Cork,  where  she 
obtained  an  engagemeet  at  £1  a  week,  and  met  with  general 
admiration.  Pryce  Gordon,  in  his  Personal  Memoirs,  relates 
that  during  the  course  of  her  Cork  engagement,  Heaphy, 
the  manager,  offered  her  a  benefit,  but  that,  from  want  of 
patronage,  this  proved  a  complete  failure.  A  party  of 
enthusiastic  young  men  thereupon  determined  that  she 
should  have  another.  They  called  for  Heaphy,  and  when 
he  failed  to  appear  in  answer  to  the  summons,  they  obtained 
reinforcements  from  the  pit,  and,  tearing  up  the  benches, 
attacked  the  orchestra.  On  this,  the  manager  deemed  it 
prudent  to  show  himself,  and  although  he  at  first  demurred 
when  a  spokesman  expressed  the  wish  of  the  audience  that 
'  Miss  Phillips '  should  have  another  benefit,  yet  ho  was  in 


DORA  JORDAN  359 

the  end,  says  Gordon, '  compelled  to  yield  to  the  wishes  of 
the  public — alias  a  score  of  wild  bucks,  of  whom  I  made 
one.'     This  benefit  produced  over  £40,  a  sum  which  must 
just  then  have  been  very  acceptable  to  the  young  lady,  who 
not  only  had  her  family  dependent   on  her,  but  had  got 
into  debt,  and  other  worse  trouble,  with  Daly.     It  was  the 
practice  of  this  notorious  scoundrel  first  to  get  his  actresses 
into  financial  difficulties  by  the  irregularity  of  his  payments, 
then  to  make  them  advances  of  money  until  they  were  hope- 
lessly in  his  debt,  and  then,  having  got  them  into  his  power, 
to  rely  on  the  fear  of  arrest  to  effect  their  seduction.     He 
had  succeeded  only  too  well  with  '  Miss  Francis ' ;  and  it 
appears  to  have  been  mainly  out  of  fear  of  him  that,  in 
July  1782,  she  ran  away,  in  company  with   her   mother, 
brother,   and   sister,    from   Dubhn   to   Leeds;    where   they 
arrived  in  an  almost  penniless  condition,  and  immediately 
applied  to  Tate  Wilkinson  for  an  engagement.     Tate  called 
at  their  inn,  and  found  them,  as  he  puts  it,  '  not  so  well 
accoutred'  as  he  could  have  wished,  both  for  their  sakes 
and  his  own.     But,  as  he  at  once  recognised  the  mother  as 
the  Miss  Phillips  who  had  played  Desdemona  for  him  in 
Dublin  twenty-four  years  previously,  he  was  inclined  to  do 
all  he  could  for  the  sake  of  old  acquaintance.     The  young 
lady,  however,  appeared  to  him  not  only  temporarily  dejected 
and   melancholy-looking,   but    without   the   least    trait    of 
comic  powers  in  feature  or  manner.     Yet,  in  answer  to  his 
question  whether  she  could  play  tragedy,  comedy,  or  opera, 
she  laconically  but  confidently  replied — '  All.'     In  after-life 
she  used  to  say  that  she  had  never  seen  an  elderly  gentle- 
man look  more  astonished.     The  mamma,  too,  like  other 
mammas,  and  in  particular  actresses'  mammas,  says  Tate, 
talked  so  fulsomely  of  her  daughter's  merits,  that  he  was 
almost  disgusted,  and  very  near  giving  a  flat  denial  to  any 
negotiations.     But  he  withdrew  for  half  an  hour  to  consider 


360   COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

the  matter,  and  then  went  back  to  ask  her  to  repeat  some- 
thing. She  pleaded  incapacity  at  the  moment,  and  begged 
for  a  fair  trial  on  the  boards  to  show  whether  or  not  she 
merited  an  engagement.  Being  still  undecided,  Wilkinson 
called  for  a  bottle  of  Madeira ;  and  after  a  chat  about  Dublin 
and  other  ordinary  matters,  at  length  prevailed  on  her  to 
speak  a  few  lines  from  the  part  of  Calista  in  The  Fair 
Penitent.  Her  voice  so  surprised  and  pleased  him  that  he 
at  once  offered  her  an  engagement  at  fifteen  shillings  a 
week ;  and  a  few  days  later  she  made  her  appearance  as 
Calista  in  that  play.  The  result  was  eminently  satisfactory 
— at  least  to  Wilkinson.  In  the  course  of  the  rambling  but 
highly  interesting  recollections  with  which  in  after-years 
he  filled  the  four  volumes  of  his  WanderUig  Patentee, 
Wilkinson  says : — 

'  I  was  not  only  charmed,  but  the  public  also — and  still  more  at 
what  I  feared  would  spoil  the  whole,  the  absurdity  of  Calista,  after 
her  death,  jumping  forth  and  singing  a  ballad ;  but  on  she  came, 
in  a  frock  and  a  little  mob  cap,  and  sang  the  song  with  such  effect 
that  I  was  fascinated — for  managers  do  not  al\va3^s  meet  with 
jewels,  but  when  they  do,  and  think  the  sale  will  turn  out  for  their 
own  advantage,  you  cannot  conceive,  reader,  how  it  makes  our 
eyes  sparkle.' 

She  remained  with  Tate  Wilkinson  for  three  years,  and 
played,  not  only  in  Leeds  but  throughout  the  York  circuit, 
with  great  success;  materially  contributing,  as  he  candidly 
admits,  to  fill  his  coffers.  During  one  of  the  race  weeks  at 
York,  Mr.  Smith  of  Drury  Lane  was  present  every  time  she 
acted,  and  Avas  evidently  so  much  struck  with  her  per- 
formance that  the  wily  Tate  secretly  rejoiced  that  he  had 
articled  her  for  a  term  at  a  moderately  increased  salary. 
While  at  York  she  also  attracted  the  favourable  notice  of  an 
elderly  and  eccentric  critic  named  Cornelius  Swan.  He 
called  her  his  adopted  daughter;  and  although  Wilkinson 


DORA  JORDAN  361 

says  he  did  not  act  up  to  the  character,  because  when  he 
died  nothing  was  left  to  her  in  his  will,  yet  he  gave,  or 
advanced,  between  two  and  three  hundred  pounds  to  pay  off 
her  debt  to  the  infamous  Daly,  when  that  scoundrel  renewed 
his  persecution  of  her.  He  also  taught,  or  imagined  that  he 
taught,  her  to  act.  On  one  occasion  he  sat  by  her  bedside 
during  an  illness,  with  Mrs.  Bland's  old  red  cloak  round  his 
neck,  instructing  her  in  Hill's  character  of  Zara;  after 
which  he  urged  Wilkinson  to  revive  that  tragedy — 'for 
really,  Wilkinson,'  said  he,  '  I  have  given  the  Jordan  but 
three  lessons,  and  she  is  so  adroit  at  receiving  my  instruc- 
tions that  I  declare  she  repeats  the  character  as  well  as 
Mrs.  Gibber  ever  did ;  nay,  let  me  do  the  Jordan  justice,  for 
I  do  not  exceed  when,  with  truth,  I  declare  Jordan  speaks  it 
as  well  as  I  could  myself.' 

Precisely  when  and  why  Miss  Bland  began  to  describe 
herself  as  '  Mrs.  Jordan '  is  somewhat  uncertain.  In  John 
Bernard's  Retrospections  of  the  Stage,  the  author  states  that 
he  once  asked  Tate  Wilkinson  the  origin  of  this  name,  as  he 
had  never  heard  of  Miss  Bland  being  married. 

'"God  bless  you,  my  boy  !"  said  Wilkinson,  "I  gave  her  that 
name — I  was  her  sponsor.  .  .  .  When  she  thought  of  going  to 
London,  she  thought  Miss  sounded  insignificant,  so  she  asked  mc 
to  advise  her  a  name.  Why,  said  I,  my  dear,  you  have  crossed  the 
unter,  so  I  '11  call  you  Jordan ;  and,  by  the  memory  of  Sam  !  if 
she  didn't  take  my  joke  in  earnest,  and  call  herself  Jordan  ever 
since."' 

This,  however,  is  inconsistent  with  the  foregoing  story 
about  Cornelius  Swan,  and  also  with  what  Tate  Wilkinson 
elsewhere  tells  us  in  the  WandeTing  Patentee.  On  the 
occasion  of  their  first  visit  to  York,  he  says,  he  was  informed 
that, '  for  family  reasons,'  his  young  star  must  not  be  billed 
either  as  'Miss  Francis'  or  as  'Miss  Bland,'  and  that  the 
name  of  Jordan  was  then  settled  upon.     The  only  family 


362  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

reason  he  gives,  however,  which   is   the   following,  would 
appear  to  call  for  her  being  billed  as  '  Miss  Phillips.' 

'At  that  juncture  her  aunt,  Miss  Phillips,  was  at  York,  on  her 
death-bed.  That  lady  had  ever  prided  herself  on  family  honours, 
being  sprung  from  the  Ap-Griffithss,  the  Winnys,  and  the  Ap- 
Rices  of  Wales.  She  was  not  destitute  of  good  qualities,  but_  had 
let  a  fatal  error  sap  her  health.  She  earnestly  sent  to  see  her 
sister  and  to  embrace  her  dear  niece,  whom  she  pronounced  an 
honour  to  the  blood  of  the  Ap-Phillipss ;  and  as  she  had  plenty  of 
clothes  and  linen  (at  the  pawnbroker's)  she  bequeathed  them  to 
her  beloved  niece — which,  under  the  rose,  was  not  at  that  time  by 
any  means  unacceptable.' 

It  has  been  suggested  that  Mrs.  Bland  at  this  time  still 
had  hopes  of  obtaining  supplies  from  her  run-away  '  Cap- 
tain's' family,  and  that  his  daughter  was  consequently 
fearful  of  offending  them  by  putting  their  name  on  the 
playbills — which  may  be  likely  enough.  But  her  biographer, 
Boaden,  merely  says  that  the  name  of  '  Mrs.  Jordan '  was 
adopted  as  being  more  consonant  with  her  manifest  matronly 
condition.  Whatever  the  reason,  however,  it  seems  that  she 
was  known  as  Mrs.  Jordan  during  the  latter  part  at  least  of 
her  engagement  with  Wilkinson,  and  that  when  she  went  up 
to  London  in  1785  to  try  her  fortune  on  the  boards  of  Drury 
Lane,  she  was  known  by  no  other  name. 

Opinions  varied  as  to  Mrs.  Jordan's  prospects  in  London ; 
and  Mrs.  Siddons,  who  saw  her  act  at  York  in  August  1785, 
is  reported  to  have  said  that  she  was  better  off  where  she 
was,  and  should  not  venture  on  the  London  boards.  Her 
first  engagement  at  Drury  Lane  was  a  sufficiently  modest 
one,  being  merely  to  act  the  second  parts  in  tragedies 
wherein  the  leading  parts  were  taken  by  Mrs.  Siddons,  and 
her  salary  was  to  be  £4  a  week.  But  from  the  moment  of 
her  appearance,  on  October  18,  as  Peggy  in  The  Country 
Girl,  her  success  was  assured.  Although,  even  then,  she 
did  not  take  the  town  by  storm ;  as  the  following  apprecia- 


DORA  JORDAN  363 

tive  but  by  no  means  enthusiastic  notice  from  the  Mornivg 

Herald  may  testify : — 

'  She  is  universally  allowed  to  possess  a  figure,  small  perhaps, 
but  neat  and  elegant,  as  was  remarkably  conspicuous  when  she 
was  dressed  as  a  boy  in  the  third  act.  Her  face,  if  not  beautiful, 
is  said  by  some  to  be  pretty,  and  by  some  pleasing,  intelligent,  or 
impressive.  Her  voice,  if  not  peculiarly  sweet,  is  not  harsh ;  if 
not  strong,  is  clear,  and  equal  to  the  extent  of  the  theatre.  She 
has  much  archness,  and  gave  every  point  of  the  dialogue  with  the 
best  comic  effect.  She  is  a  perfect  mistress  of  thejeu  cle  thcWre, 
and  improved  to  the  uttermost  all  the  ludicrous  situations  with 
which  The  Country  Girl  abounds.  From  such  premises  there  is  and 
can  be  but  one  conclusion,  that  she  is  a  most  valuable  acquisition 
to  the  public  stock  of  innocent  entertainment.' 

But  she  advanced  so  rapidly  in  public  favour,  that  before 
the  end  of  the  season  her  salary  was  tripled,  she  received 
two  benefits,  and  had  come  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  chief 
support  of  the  theatre.  As  soon  as  the  Drury  Lane  season 
closed  she  went  on  tour  in  the  provinces,  and  had  a  most 
enthusiastic  reception.  At  Leeds,  when  she  was  announced 
to  act  in  The  Country  Girl,  the  house  overflowed  before  the 
play  began,  and  seven  rows  of  the  pit  were  laid  into  the 
boxes.  The  rage  with  which  she  was  then  folloAved 
throughout  Yorkshire  was  altogether  unparalleled ;  and  her 
triumphal  progress  continued  into  Scotland,  when  Glas- 
gow presented  her  with  a  gold  medal,  struck  for  the 
occasion;  and  Edinburgh  gave  her  so  warm  a  welcome, 
that  one  night  she  was  moved  to  speak  to  the  delighted 
audience  a  bright  little  unintelligible  poetical  address  of  her 
own  composition.  Her  next  season  at  Drury  Lane  was  even 
more  successful  than  the  first ;  and  she  is  said  to  have 
brought  no  less  than  £5000  into  the  theatre  treasury.  And 
it  was  only  the  prehide  to  a  long  series  of  similar  successes, 
which  it  would  be  wearisome  to  chronicle.  In  a  word,  she 
had  risen  to  the  very  summit  of  her  profession ;  and  it  may 


364  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

be  said  that  her  popularity  never  waned  during  the  long 
period  of  twenty-four  years  that  she  was  connected  with 
that  theatre. 

Perhaps  some  faint  notion  of  the  nature  of  the  extra- 
ordinary fascination  exercised  by  Mrs.  Jordan  may  be 
derived  from  the  testimony  of  certain  eminent  professional 
and  critical  contemporaries.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  pro- 
nounced her  figure  to  be  the  neatest  and  most  perfect  in 
symmetry  that  he  had  ever  seen;  and  he  was  enchanted 
with  her  acting,  declaring  that  she  really  was  what  other 
performers  only  affected  to  be.  John  Kemble,  who  in  1796 
played  Manly  in  Wycherley's  Plain  Dealer  to  Mrs.  Jordan's 
Fideha,  could  only  find  expression  for  his  feelings  in  a 
quotation  from  Yorick,  saying :  '  It  may  seem  ridiculous 
enough  to  a  torpid  heart, — I  could  have  taken  her  into  my 
arms  and  cherished  her,  though  it  was  in  the  open  street, 
without  blushing.'  And  sixteen  years  later,  Macready,  who 
then  saw  her  act  twice  at  the  Leicester  theatre,  declared : — 

'  If  Mrs.  Siddons  appeared  a  personification  of  the  tragic  muse, 
certainly  all  the  attributes  of  Thalia  were  most  joyously  combined 
in  Mrs.  Jordan.  With  a  spirit  of  fun  that  would  have  outlaughed 
Puck  himself,  there  was  a  discrimination,  an  identity  with  her 
character,  an  artistic  arrangement  of  the  scene,  that  made  all 
appear  spontaneous  and  accidental,  though  elaborated  with  the 
greatest  care.  Her  voice  was  one  of  the  most  melodious  I  ever 
heard,  which  she  could  vary  by  certain  bass  tones,  that  would  have 
disturbed  the  gravity  of  a  hermit ;  and  who  that  heard  that  laugh 
could  ever  forget  it  ^  ...  so  rich,  so  apparently  irrepressible,  so 
deliciously  self-enjoying,  as  to  be  at  all  times  irresistible.' 

Of  course  she  had  her  limitations ;  and  happily  no  one 
knew  them  better  than  she  did  herself.  High  tragedy  she 
left  to  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  high  comedy  to  Miss  Farren ; 
although,  after  the  latter's  retirement  and  elevation  to  a 
coronet,  she  was  sometimes  induced  to  play  some  of  that 
actress's  favourite  parts.      But  she  had  neither  the  height 


DORA  JORDAN  365 

nor  the  skill  to  represent  women  of  fashion ;  and  instead  of 
gracefully  managing  a  train,  for  example,  was  very  apt,  with 
her  natural  alertness  of  action,  to  kick  it  hastily  out  of  the 
way.  In  the  youthful  and  tender  heroines  of  serious  plays, 
however,  she  was  particularly  enchanting ;  and  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  declared  that  she  did  as  much  by  the  music  of  her 
melancholy  as  by  the  music  of  her  laugh.  Charles  Lamb 
held  a  similar  opinion ;  and  in  his  essay  '  On  Some  of  the 
Old  Actors,'  suggested  by  the  names  on  an  old  playbill  of 
Twelfth  Night  that  he  had  happened  to  preserve,  there 
occurs  a  passage  of  characteristically  fine  and  subtle 
appreciation,  which  effectually  disposes  of  the  contention 
occasionally  made  that  Mrs.  Jordan  only  attained  real 
excellence  in  parts  such  as  '  Peggy,'  or  '  Little  Pickle,'  in 
which  she  could  romp  it  away  with  a  jump  and  a  laugh. 

'  Those  who  have  only  seen  Mrs.  Jordan  within  the  last  ten  or 
fifteen  j^^ears  [he  writes]  can  have  no  adequate  notion  of  her  per- 
formances of  such  parts  as  Ophelia;  Helena  in  AlVs  Well  that  Ends 
JFell ;  and  Viola  in  this  play.  Her  voice  had  latterly  acquired  a 
coarseness,  which  suited  well  enough  with  her  Nells  and  Hoydens, 
but  in  those  days  it  sank,  with  her  steady,  melting  eye,  into  the 
heart.  Her  joyous  parts— in  which  her  memory  now  chiefly  lives 
— in  her  youth  were  outdone  by  her  plaintive  ones.  There  is  no 
giving  an  account  how  she  delivered  the  disguised  story  of  her 
love  for  Orsino.  It  was  no  set  speech  that  she  had  foreseen,  so  as 
to  weave  it  into  an  harmonious  j^eriod,  line  necessarily  following 
line,  to  make  up  the  music — yet  I  have  heard  it  so  spoken,  or 
rather  read,  not  without  its  grace  and  beauty— but,  when  she  had 
declared  her  sister's  history  to  be  a  "blank,"  and  that  she  "never 
told  her  love,"  there  was  a  pause,  as  if  the  story  had  ended — and 
then  the  image  of  the  "worm  in  the  bud"  came  up  as  a  new  sug- 
gestion— and  the  heightened  image  of  "  Patience  "  still  followed 
after  that,  as  by  some  growing  (and  not  mechanical)  process, 
thought  springing  up  after  thought,  I  would  almost  say,  as  they 
were  watered  by  her  tears.  .  .  .  She  used  no  rhetoric  in  her  pas- 
sion ;  or  it  was  Nature's  own  rhetoric,  most  legitimate  then, 
when  it  seemed  altogether  without  rule  or  law.' 


366  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

It  was  certainly,  however,  as  a  comic  actress  that  Mrs. 
Jordan  was,  not  only  unrivalled,  but  absolutely  unap- 
proached.  No  other  actress  ever  caused  so  much  and  such 
genuine  laughter.  Her  own  intense  enjoyment  of  a  ludi- 
crous thing  was  so  contagious  that,  as  Macready  said,  it  would 
have  broken  down  the  conventional  serenity  of  Lord  Ches- 
terfield himself.  Hazlitt  declared,  with  all  his  character- 
istic gusto,  that  she  was  a  child  of  Nature,  whose  voice  was 
a  cordial  to  the  heart,  '  rich,  full,  like  the  luscious  juice  of 
the  ripe  grape,'  to  hear  whose  laugh  was  to  drink  nectar, 
whose  talk  was  '  far  above  singing,'  and  whose  singing  was 
like  the  twang  of  Cupid's  bow.  And  Leigh  Hunt  gave  the 
following  account  of  the  unique  nature  of  her  laughter, 
which  may  pair  off  with  Charles  Lamb's  analysis  of  her 
pathetic  power : — 

'  Her  laughter  is  the  happiest  and  most  natural  on  the  stage ;  if 
she  is  to  laugh  in  the  middle  of  a  speech,  it  does  not  separate 
itself  so  abruptly  from  her  Avords  as  with  most  of  our  performers. 
.  .  .  Her  laughter  intermingles  itself  with  her  words  as  fresh  ideas 
afford  her  fresh  merriment ;  she  does  not  so  much  indulge  as  she 
seems  unable  to  help  it ;  it  increases,  it  lessens,  ■with  her  fancy ; 
and  when  you  expect  it  no  longer,  according  to  the  usual  habits 
of  the  stage,  it  sparkles  forth  at  little  intervals  as  recollection 
revives  it,  like  flame  from  half-smothered  embers.  This  is  the 
laughter  of  the  feelings  ;  and  it  is  this  predominance  of  heart  in  all 
she  says  and  does  that  renders  her  the  most  delightful  actress  in 
the  Donna  Violante  of  The  Wonder,  the  Clara  of  Matrimony,  and  in 
twenty  other  characters.' 

It  was  perhaps  unfortunate  that  Mrs.  Jordan  happened  to 
be  so  fine  a  '  breeches  figure ' ;  and  her  constant  representa- 
tion of  male  parts  may,  as  Leigh  Hunt  held,  have  tended  to 
spoil  her  for  the  higher  comedy  ;  but  the  consensus  of  testi- 
mony unquestionably  bears  out  his  final  verdict  that,  as  a 
performer  who  united  great  comic  powers  with  much  serious 
feeling,  she  was  not  only  the  first  actress  of  her  day,  but,  '  as 


DORA  JORDAN  367 

it  appears  to  me,  from  the  descriptions  we  have  of  former 
actresses,  the  first  that  has  adorned  our  stage.'  To  place 
Mrs.  Jordan  on  a  level  with  Mrs.  Siddons  may  perhaps 
appear  to  the  modern  reader,  who  is  much  more  familiar 
with  the  name  of  the  latter  than  of  the  former,  somewhat 
extravagant ;  and  it  may  be  well  to  adduce  the  testimony  of 
James  Boaden,  who,  besides,  being  an  admirer  and  intimate 
friend,  was  the  biographer  of  both  these  ladies.  It  is  a 
singular  circumstance  that  his  most  enthusiastic  eulogy  of 
Mrs.  Jordan  occurs  in  his  Life  of  Mrs.  Siddons.  After  en- 
larging on  the  '  prodigious '  attraction  of  the  latter,  whose 
tragedy  had  for  three  seasons  consistently  brought  in  greater 
receipts  than  the  whole  comic  strength  of  Drury  Lane  com- 
bined, and  when  there  seemed  no  chance  whatever  that  any 
single  name  in  comedy  should  ever  divide  the  town  with 
her,  he  says  that  the  situation  was  entirely  altered  by 
the  appearance,  of  a  young,  unpatronised  actress  from  the 
York  company. 

'  The  reader  sees  that  I  can  only  allude  to  Mrs.  Jordan.  Cer- 
tainly no  lady  in  my  time  was  ever  so  decidedly  marked  out  for 
comic  delight.  She  seemed  as  if  expressly  formed  to  dry  up  the 
tears  which  tragedy  had  so  long  excited,  and  balance  the  account 
between  the  dramatic  sisters,  which  Garrick  alone  succeeded  to  do 
in  his  own  single  person.  .  .  . 

'  The  mark  of  this  great  actress  had  been  made  upon  all  the  little 
caresses  of  female  artifice  that  inspire  confidence  because  they  pre- 
sume ingenuousness ;  all  those  sportive  enjoyments  of  bounding 
youth  and  whim  and  eccentricity ;  things  that  are  usually  done 
laughing,  and  provoke  the  laugh  of  unavoidable  sympathy.  Her 
sphere  of  observation  had  for  the  most  part  been  in  the  country, 
and  The  Country  Girl,  therefore,  became  her  own,  in  its  innocence 
or  its  wantonness,  its  moodiness  under  restraint,  or  its  elastic 
movement  when  free.  Her  imagination  teemed  with  the  notions 
of  such  a  being,  and  the  gestures  with  which  what  she  said  was 
accompanied,  spoke  a  language  infinitely  more  suggestive  than 
words — the  latter  could  give  no  more  than  the  meaning  of  her 


368  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

mind,  the  former  interpreted  for  the  whole  being.  She  did  not 
rise  to  the  point  where  comedy  attains  the  dignity  of  moral  satire, 
but  humour  was  her  own  in  all  its  boundless  diversity. 

'  She  had  no  reserve  whatever  of  modest  shyness  to  prevent  her 
from  giving  the  fullest  efiect  to  the  flights  of  her  fancy.  She 
drove  everything  home  to  the  mark,  and  the  visible  enjoyment  of 
her  own  power  added  sensibly  to  its  effect  upon  others.  Of  her 
beautiful  compact  figure  she  had  the  most  captivating  use  ;  its 
spring,  its  wild  activity,  its  quickness  of  turn.  She  made  a  grand 
deposit  of  her  tucker,  and  her  bosom  concealed  everything  but  its 
own  charms.  The  redundant  curls  of  her  hair,  half  showing  and 
half  concealing  the  archness  of  her  physiognomy,  added  to  a  play- 
fulness which,  even  as  she  advanced  in  life,  could  not  seem  other- 
wise than  natural  and  delightful.  But  all  this  would  have  been 
inadequate  to  her  pre-eminence  without  that  bewitching  voice 
which  blurted  out  the  tones  of  vulgar  enjoyment,  or  spleen,  or  re- 
sistance, so  as  to  render  even  coarseness  pleasing,  or  floAved  in  the 
sprightly  measures  of  a  joy  so  exhilarating  as  to  dispel  dulness  in 
an  instant :  she  crowned  all  this  by  a  laugh  so  rich  and  so 
provoking,  an  expression  of  face  so  brilliant,  and  that  seemed 
never  to  tire  in  giving  pleasure,  that  the  sight  of  her  was  a  general 
signal  for  the  most  unrestrained  delight.' 

But  we  must  now  pass  from  the  front  of  the  footlights,  in 
order  to  get  a  glimpse  or  two  of  what  went  on  behind  the 
scenes.  It  has  been  already  mentioned  that  the  infamous 
Daly  took  advantage  of  the  young  actress  before  she  had 
reached  her  twenty-first  year.  A  daughter,  who  was  the 
result  of  this  connection,  was,  up  to  the  time  of  her  marriage 
to  a  Mr.  Alsop,  known  as  Miss  Jordan.  In  1787,  w^hen  at 
the  age  of  twenty-five  and  at  the  summit  of  her  profession, 
Mrs.  Jordan  suddenly  became  known  as  Mrs.  Ford,  having, 
it  was  presumed,  married  Richard  Ford,  'a  barrister  by 
profession,  and  a  strolling  player  by  necessity.'  She  had 
three  children  by  Ford,  all  daughters ;  and  for  several  years 
was  not  only  believed  to  be  Ford's  legal  wife,  but  looked 
upon  as  a  pattern  of  matronly  excellence.  Her  '  Confidential 
Friend '  asserts  that  Ford  solemnly  promised  to  marry  her, 


DORA  JORDAN  369 

but  induced  her  to  defer  the  ceremony  in  order  not  to  offend 
his  father,  on  whom  he  was  dependent,  and  from  whom  he 
had  great  expectations.     Be  this  as  it  may,  they  appear  to 
have  Hved  very  comfortably  together,  keeping  their  carriage, 
and  an  establishment  at  the  rate  of  something  like  two 
thousand  a  year, — needless  to  say,  entirely  out  of  her  earn- 
ings.     Then,  in   1790,  the   Duke   of  Clarence  (afterwards 
William  iv.),  who  had  just  come  home  from  active  service 
in  the  Navy,  fell  in  love  with  the  fascinating  actress,  and 
proposed   to   make   her   his    mistress.      Boaden   says   that 
Mrs.  Jordan  knew  the  value  of  the  sanctions  of  law  and 
religion  as  well  as  anybody;  and  that  if  Mr.  Ford  would 
have  taken  that  one  step  further  which  she  then  urged  him 
to  do,  and  which   the   Duke   could  not   take,   she   would 
certainly  have  married  the  barrister  rather  than  become  the 
mistress  of  the  Prince.     She  told  him  distinctly,  says  her 
biographer  and  friend,  that  her  mind  was  made  up  at  least 
on  one  point,  viz. : — that  if  she  must  choose  between  offers 
of  '  protection,'   she    should   certainly   choose    that   which 
promised  the  fairest ;  but  that  if  he  could  think  her  worthy 
of  being  his  wife,  no  temptations  whatever  would  be  strong 
enough  to  detach  her  from  him  and  her  duties.     Mr.  Ford, 
however,  says  Boaden,  resigned  her  with  legal  composure ; 
and  she  accepted  the  terms  held  out  by  the  Duke.     The 
Rev.  William  Wright,  in  his  Life  and  Reign  of  William  IV., 
puts  a  rather  different  complexion  on  this  story,  at  least 
so  far  as  one  of  the  parties  is  concerned.     According  to  him, 
Ford  transferred  Mrs.  Jordan  to  the  Duke  in  the  manner  of 
a  man  who  puts  up  his  wife  for  sale  to  the  highest  bidder 
with  a  halter  about  her  neck.     Mr.  Wright  asserts  most 
unequivocally  that  when  Mrs.  Jordan  offered  to  give  up  all 
thought  of  the  Duke  if  only  Ford  would  marry  her,  that 
worthless  person  had  already  made  an  infamous  bargain  in 
the  matter  with  the  Duke;  and  that  in  addition  to  other 

2  a 


370  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

considerations  for  resigning  tlie  mother  of  his  three  children, 
he  obtained  a  share  in  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  and  (later  on)  a 
police  magistracy  at  Shadwell,  from  which  he  was  subse- 
quently promoted  to  Bow  Street  and  a  knighthood.  Boaden 
does  not  appear  to  have  known  of  this;  but  he  seems  to 
have  held  Ford  in  considerable  contempt,  remarking  that 
he  had  asked  men  of  his  own  standing  at  the  Bar  and  on 
the  Bench  for  their  recollections  of  this  mirror  of  magistracy 
and  knighthood,  only  to  find  that  '  he  had  impressed  their 
minds  as  a  fly  would  their  hands — they  had  just  shaken  it 
and  it  was  gone.'  It  may  be  mentioned,  in  passing,  that 
Ford  subsequently  married  a  Miss  Booth, — with  whom  he 
is  said  to  have  got  some  property.  The  public,  however, 
knowing  nothing  of  all  this,  regarded  Ford  as  an  injured 
and  deserted  man,  and  became  extremely  solicitous  about 
his  children.  Some  persons,  who  had  axes  of  their  own 
to  grind,  also  spread  about  the  report  that  Mrs.  Jordan 
had  allowed  the  solicitations  of  a  Prince  to  withdraw  her 
from  the  theatre.  This  moved  her  to  write  to  the  papers  in 
November  1790,  saying  that  though  she  had  submitted  in 
silence  to  a  good  deal  of  abuse  relating  to  matters  in  which 
she  considered  the  public  had  no  concern,  now  that  she  had 
been  attacked  in  the  conduct  of  her  profession,  she  felt 
called  upon  to  reply.  In  the  first  place,  then,  it  was  totally 
untrue  that  she  had  absented  herself  from  the  theatre  from 
any  other  cause  than  illness ;  and,  secondly,  her  theatrical 
earnings  were  the  only  income  she  possessed,  or  meant  to 
possess,  and  the  half  of  that  she  had  already  settled  upon 
her  children.  The  next  time  she  appeared  at  the  theatre, 
however,  the  audience  was  evidently  hostile,  and  inclined  to 
be  riotous;  whereupon  she  courageously  advanced  to  the 
footlights,  and  made  a  little  speech,  throwing  herself  on 
their  generosity  and  protection  in  such  a  manner  as  to  com- 
pletely re-establish  herself  in  the  popular  favour. 


DORA  JORDAN  871 

It  luiist  be  remembered  that  during  the  whole  twenty 
years  of  Mrs.  Jordan's  connection  with  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
he  was  a  person  of  no  political  importance,  as  it  was  not 
until  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  York  in  1827  that  he  became 
heir  to  the  crown.  He  had  been  appointed  Ranger  of  Bushy 
Park ;  and  he  resided  there  with  Mrs.  Jordan,  devoting  him- 
self almost  entirely  to  the  affectionate  care  of  the  numerous 
children  she  bore  him.  She  was  installed  as  the  mistress  of 
his  household ;  and  when  not  absent  in  the  exercise  of  her 
profession,  took  the  head  of  his  dinner- table,  and  was  treated 
by  himself  and  his  visitors  as  though  she  were  his  wife. 
Her  daughter  by  Daly,  as  well  as  her  three  daughters  by 
Ford,  who  all  bore  the  name  of  Jordan,  lived  with  her  at 
Bushy,  and  appear  to  have  been  treated  by  the  Duke 
almost  as  affectionately  as  if  they  had  been  his  own.  It  is 
said  that  he  allowed  her  £1,000  a  year.  The  '  Confidential 
Friend'  relates  that  one  day  George  iii.  paternally  ad- 
monished him  on  such  extravagance.  '  Hey,  hey,'  said 
the  old  King,  '  What 's  this  ? — What 's  this  ?  You  keep  an 
actress— keep  an  actress,  they  say.' — '  Yes,  sir.' — '  Ah,  well, 
well ;  how  much  do  you  give  her,  eh  ? ' — '  A  thousand  a  year, 
sir.' — '  A  thousand  !  a  thousand  !  too  much,  too  much !  Five 
hundred  quite  enough,  quite  enough  ! '  The  story  goes  on 
that  the  Duke,  after  pondering  over  the  matter,  wrote  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Jordan  suggesting  the  reduction  in  the  allow- 
ance which  his  father  had  recommended ;  and  that  all  he 
received  from  her  by  way  of  answer  was  a  strijj  torn  off" 
from  the  bottom  of  a  playbill  bearing  the  words  '  no  money 
returned  after  the  rising  of  the  curtain.'  But  this  story  is 
most  probably  apocryphal.  Indeed,  subsequent  events  point 
very  strongly  to  the  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Jordan's  earnings 
as  an  actress — which,  if  not  quite  so  enormous  as  some  of 
her  admirers  would  make  out,  certainly  ran  into  some  thou- 
sands a  year — were  to  a  very  large  extent  placed  at  the 


372  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

disposal  of  His  Royal  Highness,  There  seems  to  have  been 
some  public  suspicion  of  this  from  the  first ;  for,  amongst 
the  numerous  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers  respecting  the 
new  '  Royal  Alliance,'  we  not  only  find  such  gems  of  journal- 
istic Avit  as  the  following  : — 

'  A  favourite  actress,  if  Old  Goody  Rumour  is  to  be  trusted,  has 
thought  proper  to  put  herself  under  the  protection  of  a  distinguished 
sailor,  who  dropped  anchor  before  her  last  summer  at  Richmond.  As 
she  resolutely  held  out,  however,  at  that  time,  though  the  assault 
Avas  vigorously  pushed,  perhaps  this  is  only  a  flying  report ;  and  the 
lady  thinks  there  is  more  security  in  a  private  Ford  than  in  the 
open  sea ' ; 
or — 

'  Little  Picky s  assumed  character  of  the  Tar  was  a  prelude  only 
to  her  future  nautical  fame ;  for  though  pressed  into  the  service^ 
she  has  consented,  we  find,  to  be  close  moored  under  the  guns  of 
the  Royal  Commodore ' ; 
or — 

'A  correspondent  observes  that  the  Jordan,  which  was  only 
FORD-able  some  time  ago,  is  now  capable  of  bearing  a  first-rate ! ' ; 

but  in  November  1791  one  of  the  morning  papers  boldly 

said — 

'  The  connection  between  Little  Pickle  and  her  new  Friend  has 
been  paragraphed  in  every  public  shape,  and  unless  something 
extraordinary  should  ever  occur,  may  now  be  dropped.  We  have 
only  to  add  that,  as  Banker  to  Her  Highness,  he  actually  received 
her  week's  salary  from  the  Treasurer  on  Saturday  last ! ! ! ' 

And  a  few  days  later,  a  writer  who  signed  himself  '  Pindar 
Junr,,*  ventured  to  print  the  following  epigram — 

'  On  a  Certain  Person's  Receiving  a  Theatuical  Salary.' 

'As  Jordan's  high  and  mighty  squire 
Her  play-house  profits  deigns  to  skim. 
Some  folks  audaciously  enquire 
If  he  keeps  her,  or  she  keeps  /wm .' ' 

From  time  to  time  reports  became  current  that  Mrs. 
Jordan  was  about  to  retire  from  the  stage,  in  deference  to 


DORA  JORDAN  373 

the  wishes  of  her  exalted  friend ;  but,  except  for  such  occa- 
sional absences  as  were  necessitated  by  the  cares  of  maternity, 
and  for  one  longer  period  between  1806  and  1808,  that 
threatened  retirement  never  took  effect ;  and  we  may  very 
well  doubt  whether  it  was  ever  really  intended.  The  Duke 
used  to  read  proffered  plays  to  see  whether  they  contained 
parts  likely  to  be  suitable  (and  therefore  profitable)  to  her ; 
and  we  may  shrewdly  suspect  that  certain  little  items  of 
information  with  which  she  favoured  other  friends  in  her 
letters  from  Bushy— such  as,  '  I  returned  here  on  the  7th 
inst.  after  a  very  fatiguing  though  very  prosperous  cruise  of 
five  weeks ' ;  or,  'I  have  made  two  most  lucrative  trips  since 
I  saw  you ' — were  by  no  means  matters  of  indifference  to  her 
special  Friend,  the  impecunious  Ranger  of  Bushy  Park. 
However,  both  parties  appear  to  have  been  perfectly  satisfied 
with  their  bargain.  Boaden  says  that  'whoever  had  the 
happiness  of  seeing  them  together  at  Bushy,  saw  them 
surrounded  by  a  family  rarely  excelled  for  personal  and 
mental  grace;  they  saw  their  happy  mother  an  honoured 
wife  in  everything  but  the  legal  title ;  and  uniformly  spoke 
of  the  establishment  at  Bushy  as  one  of  the  most  enviable 
that  had  ever  presented  itself  to  their  scrutiny.'  Greville 
noted  in  his  Diary  that  the  Duke  seemed  to  live  entirely 
with  and  for  his  children,  whom  he  brought  up  with  very 
tender  affection.  And  from  the  tone  of  several  letters  to 
Sir  Husfh  Christian,  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  Romantic 
Annals  of  a  Naval  Family  it  is  apparent  that  he  was  equally 
devoted  to  Mrs.  Jordan.  On  one  occasion,  he  apologises  for 
not  answering  a  letter  sooner  because  he  has  been  in  attend- 
ance on  Mrs.  Jordan,  who  has  been  very  ill  indeed  ;  another 
time,  he  begs  his  correspondent  to  accept  Mrs.  Jordan's 
thanks  as  well  as  his  o^vn  for  some  proffered  civility ;  and 
again,  in  acknowledging  kind  inquiries  after  Mrs.  Jordan's 
health,  he  writes — 


874    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  The  papers  have  on  this  occasion  told  the  truth,  for  she  was 
last  week  for  some  hours  in  danger ;  but  now,  thank  God,  she  is 
much  better,  and  I  hope  in  a  fair  way  of  perfect  recovery.  It  is 
my  present  intention  to  set  out  on  the  23rd  inst.  for  the  seaside, 
in  order  that  Mrs.  Jordan  may  bathe  for  six  weeks.  As  the  place 
we  mean  to  go  to  is  no  great  distance  from  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and 
if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see 
you  there,  and  Mrs,  Jordan  has  likewise  desired  me  to  say  as 
much.' 

In  fact,  the  Duke  appears  to  have  treated  her,  and  insisted 
on  his  friends  treating  her,  precisely  as  if  she  had  been  his 
Duchess.  And  it  is  an  extraordinary  circumstance  that,  in 
spite  of  her  origin  and  upbringing,  Mrs.  Jordan  seems  to 
have  risen  to  the  occasion.  Sir  Jonah  Barrington,  one  of 
the  Judges  of  the  High  Court  of  Admiralty  in  Ireland,  who 
was  a  friend  of  the  Duke,  and  whose  son  was  brought  up 
with  the  Duke's  family  at  Bushy,  bears  emphatic  testimony 
on  this  point.  '  I  have  seen  this  accomplished  woman,'  he 
says,  '  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  finest  families  in  England, 
surrounded  by  splendour,  beloved,  respected,  and  treated 
with  all  the  deference  paid  to  a  member  of  high  Hfe ; '  and 
'  never  did  I  find  in  any  character  a  more  complete  concen- 
tration of  every  quality  that  should  distinguish  a  mother, 
a  friend,  and  a  gentlewoman.'  She  seldom  spoke  much  in 
company,  particularly  in  large  assemblies ;  but  when  she  did, 
she  spoke  well ;  and  Barrington  says  that,  making  no  exertion 
to  appear  distinguished,  she  became  all  the  more  so  by  the 
absence  of  effort,  '  the  performer  being  wholly  merged  in  the 
gentlewoman.' 

In  the  Courier  of  August  23,  1806,  the  public  obtained  a 
glimpse  of  the  popular  actress  as  she  appeared  when  playing 
the  rule  of  Duchess  in  private  life.  August  22  was  the 
Duke's  birthday,  who  in  1806  completed  his  forty-first  year, 
and,  for  some  reason,  celebrated  the  occasion  not  merely  by 
giving  a  buck  to  his  tradesmen,  who,  of  course,  put  up  loyal 


DORA  JORDAN  875 

illuminations  in  the  evening  as  usual,  but  by  giving  a  party 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  a  number  of  other  distinguished 
persons,  which  the  newspaper  mentioned  described  in  the 
following  glowing  terms  : — 

'The  Duke  of  Clarence's  birthday  was  celebrated  with  much 
splendour  in   Bushy   Park   on    Thursday.     The   grand   hall  was 
entirely   new  fitted  up  with  bronze  pilasters,  and  various  marble 
imitations  ;— the  ceiling  was  correctly  clouded,  and  the  whole  illu- 
minated   with   some   brilliant   patent   lamps,    suspended   from  a 
beautiful  eagle.     The  dining-room,  in  the  right  wing,  was  fitted  up 
in  a  modern  style,  with  new  elegant  lamps  at  the  different  entrances. 
The  pleasure-ground  was  disposed  for  the  occasion,  and  the  ser- 
vants  had  new   liveries.      In  the  morning,   the  Duke   of  York's 
and  Kent's  bands  arrived  in  caravans ;  after  dressing  themselves 
and   dining,    they   went    into   the   pleasure-grounds,    and  played 
alternately  some  charming  pieces.      The  Duke  of  Kent's  played 
some  of  the  choruses  and  movements  from  Haydn's  Oratorio  of  the 
Creation,  arranged  by  command  of  his  Royal  Highness  for  a 
band  of  wind  instruments.     About  five  o'clock  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
the  Dukes  of  York,  Kent,  Sussex,  and  Cambridge,  Colonel  Paget, 
etc.,  arrived  from  reviewing  the  German  Legion.     After  they  had 
dressed  for  dinner,  they  walked  in  the  pleasure-grounds,  accom- 
panied by  the  Lord  Chancellor,  Earl  and  Countess  of  Athlone  and 
Daughter,  Lord  Leicester,  Baron  Hotham  and  Lady,  Baron  Eden, 
the  Attorney  General,  Colonel  Paget  and  Mr,   Millon,  Serjeant 
Marshall,  and  a  number  of  other  persons.     At  seven  o'clock  the 
second  bell  announced  the  dinner,  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  took 
Mrs.  Jordan  by  the  hand,  led  her  into  the  dining-room,  and  seated 
her  at  the  top  of  the  table.     The  Prince  took  his  seat  at  her  right 
hand,  and  the  Duke  of  York  at  her  left,  the  Duke  of  Cambridge 
sat  next  to  the  Prince,  the  Duke  of  Kent  next  to  the  Duke  of 
York,  and  the  Lord  Chancellor  next  to  his  Royal  Highness.      The 
Duke  of  Clarence  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table.     It  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  state  that  the  table  was  sumptuously  covered  with  every- 
thing the  season  could  afford.     The  bands  played  on  the  lawn, 
close  to  the  dining-room  window.     The  populace  were  permitted  to 
enter  the  pleasure-grounds  to  behold  the  royal  banquet,  while  the 
presence  of  Messrs.  Townsend,  Sayers,  and  Macmann  preserved  the 
most  correct  decorum.     The  Duke's  numerous  family  were  intro- 


376    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

duced,  and  admired  by  the  Prince,  the  royal  Dukes,  and  the  whole 
company ;  an  infant  in  arms,  with  a  most  beautiful  white  head  of 
hair,  was  brought  into  the  dining-room  by  the  nursery  maid. 
After  dinner,  the  Prince  gave  "  The  Duke  of  Clarence,"'  which  Avas 
drunk  with  three  times  three;  the  Duke  then  gave  "The  King," 
which  was  drunk  in  a  solemn  manner.  A  discharge  of  cannon  from 
the  lawn  followed  "The  Queen  and  Princesses,"  "The  Duke  of 
York  and  the  Army."  His  Royal  Highness's  band  then  struck  up 
his  celebrated  march.' 

What  tlie  '  populace,'  whose  '  most  correct  decorum '  may 
have  been  due  to  the  presence  of  the  Bow  Street  runners, 
secretly  thought  about  all  this,  we  have  no  means  of  know- 
ing. But  it  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  the  news- 
papers that  their  royal  princes  were  not  also  observing  the 
most  correct  decorum.  William  Cobbett  alone  gave  vent 
to  a  growl  in  his  Political  Register.  He  affected  to  believe 
that  the  Courier  and  other  newspapers  had  been  hoaxed. 
He  could  not  believe,  he  said,  that  '  Mother  Jordan,'  who, 
the  last  time  he  saw  her  (in  her  character  of  Nell  Jobson), 
cost  him  eighteenpence,  had  been  taken  by  the  hand  and 
seated  at  the  head  of  the  Duke's  table  by  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  And  seeing  that  such  false  and  malicious  reports 
were  calculated  to  do  great  harm  to  the  royal  family,  he 
ironically  invited  the  Prince  of  Wales  or  one  of  his  royal 
brothers  to  contradict  the  whole  account  in  the  columns 
of  his  Register,  which  he  would  willingly  throw  open  to 
them  for  the  purpose. 

Mrs.  Jordan's  children  by  the  Duke  of  Clarence  were  five 
sons  and  five  daughters,  all  of  whom  took  the  name  of 
Fitzclarence.  Soon  after  his  accession  to  the  throne, 
William  iv.  created  the  eldest  son  Earl  of  Munster,  and  gave 
to  all  the  others  the  rank  and  precedence  of  younger  sons 
and  daughters  of  a  marquis.  The  eldest  son  committed 
suicide  ;  and  two  of  the  others  distinguished  themselves  (in 
other  ways)  sufficiently  to  obtain  a  place  in  the  Dictionary 


DOKA  JORDAN  377 

of  National  Biography ;  but,  as  their  subsequent  history  is 
no  part  of  the  present  stor}^  it  may  be  sufficient  to  give  a 
mere  list  of  the  family. 

George   Augustus   Frederick    Fitzclarence,    created   Earl    of 

Munster  in  1831. 
Henry  Fitzclarence,  died,  a  captain,  in  India,  in  1817. 
Lord  Frederick  Fitzclarence,  Lieut.-General,  and  Colonel  of 

36th  Foot. 
Lord  Adolphus  Fitzclarence,  Commander  of  the  Royal  Yacht, 

etc. 
Lord  Augustus  Fitzclarence,  Rector  of  Mapledurham,  chaplain 

to  the  King. 
Lady  Sophia  Fitzclarence,  married  Lord  De  Lisle  and  Dudley 

in  1825. 
Lady  Mary  Fitzclarence,  married  General  Fox  in  1824. 
Lady  Elizabeth  Fitzclarence,  married  Earl  of  Errol  in  1820. 

'married  1st,  Hon.  J.  K.  Erskine 
in  1827. 
Lady  Augusta  Fitzclarence,  j  ^^^^^ried  2nd,  Lord  John  Fredk. 

.     Gordon  in  1836. 
Lady  Amelia  Fitzclarence,  married  Viscount  Falkland  in  1830. 


Mrs.  Jordan,  it  will  be  remembered,  had,  in  addition  to 
the  foregoing,  one  daughter  by  Daly  and  three  by  Ford,  and 
she  seems  to  have  considered  that  in  order  to  marry  these 
well,  she  must  provide  each  of  them  with  a  portion  of  not 
less  than  £10,000.  This  has  been  conjectured  by  some 
to  account  for  her  continuing  to  perform  long  after  she 
might  otherwise  have  comfortably  retired  from  the  stage. 
When  Frances,  the  eldest,  came  of  age,  Mrs.  Jordan  took 
a  handsome  house  for  her  in  Golden  Square,  which  also 
served  as  a  town  house  for  her  sisters  when  they  were  not 
with  their  mother  at  Bushy.  Frances  married  a  clerk  in 
the  Ordnance  Office,  named  Alsop ;  Dora  married  another 
Ordnance  Office  official,  named  March ;  and  Lucy  married  a 
Colonel  (afterwards  General)  Hawker. 

Although  Barrinsrton  and   Boaden   both   hint   that   the 


878  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Duke  frequently  solicited  Mrs.  Jordan  to  retire  from  the 
stage,  it  appears  to  be  mucli  more  probable  that  her  short 
temporary  absences,  and  the  occasional  reports  that  she 
would  accept  no  more  permanent  engagements,  arose  from 
a  growing  disinclination  on  her  own  part.  While  on  one  of 
her  profitable  little  '  cruises '  from  Bushy,  she  wrote  to 
Boaden  from  Bath,  in  1809,  saying,  '  I  am  quite  tired  of  the 
profession,  I  have  lost  those  great  encitements,  variety 
and  emulation  .  .  .  without  these,  it  is  a  mere  money- 
making  drudgery.'  But  she  went  on  to  console  herself  by 
remembering  that,  notwithstanding  the  great  drawback  of 
unsettled  weather,  she  would  clear,  between  that  place  and 
Bristol  from  £800  to  £900.  Her  professional  success 
throughout  had,  indeed,  she  admitted,  been  extraordinary, 
and  '  attended  with  great  emoluments ' ;  but  although  she 
by  this  time  had  enough  for  herself,  that  was  too  selfish  a 
consideration  to  weigh  for  one  moment  against  what  she 
considered  to  be  a  duty : — 

'From  the  first  starting  in  life,  at  the  early  age  of  fourteen,  I 
have  always  had  a  large  family  to  support.  My  mother  was  a 
duty.  But  on  brothers  and  sisters  I  have  lavished  more  money 
than  can  be  supposed,  and  more,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  than  I  can 
well  justify  to  those  who  have  a  stronger  and  prior  claim  on  my 
exertions.' 

But  although  she  went  to  the  theatre  languidly  and  with 
apparent  reluctance,  as  Barrington,  who  on  one  occasion 
accompanied  her  to  the  green-room  at  Liverpool,  observed ; 
yet  '  the  moment  her  foot  touched  the  boards,  her  spirit 
seemed  to  be  regenerated.  She  walked  spiritedly  across 
the  stage,  as  if  to  measure  its  extent,  the  comic  eye  and 
cordial  laugh  returned  to  their  mistress,  and  ever}-  sign  of 
depression  vanished.'  Naturally  enough,  there  were  times 
at  which  it  was  particularly  repugnant  to  her  to  assume 
some  of  the  male  parts  in  which  she  had  previously  achieved 


DORA  JORDAN  379 

such  great  popularity.  One  such  occasion  brought  out  a 
highly  amusing  story.  Wroughton,  the  manager,  noticing 
her  evident  discontent  at  rehearsal,  sarcastically  remarked — 
'  Why,  you  are  quite  grand,  madam, — quite  the  Duchess  this 
morning.'  To  which  Mrs.  Jordan  rejoined — 'Very  likely; 
for  you  are  not  the  first  person  to-day  who  has  condescended 
to  honour  me  ironically  with  the  title.'  And  she  then  went 
on  to  tell  the  company  that  having  had  occasion  that 
morning  to  discharge  an  Irish  maid  for  impertinence,  the 
woman,  when  she  received  her  wages,  had  held  up  one  of 
the  shillings,  and  then,  banging  it  on  the  table,  exclaimed — 
'  Arrah  !  now,  honey ;  with  this  thirteener,  won't  I  sit  in  the 
gallery  ! — and  won't  your  Royal  Grace  give  me  a  curtsy ! — 
and  won't  I  give  your  Royal  Highness  a  howl,  and  a  hiss  into 
the  bargain  ! '  It  must  have  been  sometimes  rather  difficult 
to  sustain  concurrently  the  roles  of  quasi-Duchess  and 
popular  comedienne ;  but  although  Mrs.  Jordan  was  occasion- 
ally the  subject  of  attack  in  what  Boaden  terms  '  the 
infamous  prints '  of  the  time,  it  was  very  seldom  that  she 
heard  a  hiss  in  the  theatre ;  and  from  the  commencement 
of  her  career  to  its  close,  not  only  was  her  professional  pre- 
eminence cordially  acknowledged,  but  her  popularity  was 
scarcely,  if  at  all,  affected  by  what  was  known  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  private  history.  Amongst  her  pro- 
fessional associates  she  maintained  an  engaging  modesty ; 
was  never  offended  by  frank  criticism  of  her  acting;  and 
had  good  sense  enough  to  prefer  sincerity  to  adulation.  In 
fact,  she  seems  to  have  had  a  far  less  exalted  notion  of  her 
acting  than  had  many  of  the  professional  critics.  John 
Taylor  relates  in  his  Memoirs  that  he  was  sitting  with  her 
one  niorht  in  the  grreen-room  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre, 
when  she  was  about  to  perform  the  part  of  Rosalind  in  As 
You  Like  It. 

'  I  happened  to  mention  [he  writes]  an  actor  who  had  recently 


380    COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

appeared  with  wonderful  success,  and  expressed  my  surprise  at 
the  public  taste  in  this  instance.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Taylor,  don't  mention 
public  taste,"  said  she,  "  for  if  the  public  had  any  taste,  how  could 
they  bear  me  in  the  part  which  I  play  to-night,  and  which  is  far 
above  my  habits  and  pretensions." 

Yet  this,  says  Taylor,  was  one  of  the  parts  in  which  she 
was  so  popular ;  and  he  might  have  added  that  it  was  one 
of  the  parts  in  which  so  discriminating  a  critic  as  Leigh 
Hunt  thought  her  peculiar  excellences  made  her  most  de- 
lightful ;  while  the  poet  Campbell  declared  that  Shakespeare 
himself,  if  he  had  been  a  living  spectator,  would  have  gone 
behind  the  scenes  to  salute  her  for  her  success  in  it. 

The  glimpses  we  get  of  Mrs.  Jordan  behind  the  scenes  are 
by  no  means  superabundant ;  but,  such  as  they  are,  they 
show  her  to  have  been  a  woman  of  frank  and  generous 
character,  always  ready  to  assist  less  fortunate  players  either 
with  purse  or  performance,  while  at  the  same  time  keen 
enough  in  her  own  business  arrangements  to  draw  from 
Tate  Wilkinson  the  avowal  that  '  at  making  a  bargain,  Mrs. 
Jordan  is  too  many  for  the  cunningest  devil  of  us  all.'  She 
seems  to  have  possessed  a  good  sound  understanding,  and 
considerable  native  talent  in  more  than  one  direction ;  for, 
although  she  never  set  up  for  an  author,  she  wrote  fairly 
well  both  in  prose  and  in  verse;  and  although,  like  Mrs. 
Siddons,  she  was  no  showy  talker,  her  conversation  was  not 
only  marked  by  good  sense  and  propriety,  but  also  exhibited 
a  good  deal  of  humour.  A  story  is  told  showing  how  her 
generosity  once  conquered  even  the  repugnance  to  her 
profession  which  was  then  almost  part  of  the  religion  of  the 
fanatical  nonconformists.  During  a  short  stay  at  Chester, 
where  she  had  been  performing,  her  washerwoman,  a  widow 
with  three  small  children,  had  been  thrown  into  prison  for 
a  debt  of  forty  shillings,  which  extortionate  legal  expenses 
had  run  up  to  the  amount  of  £S.     As  soon  as  Mrs.  Jordan 


DORA  JORDAN  381 

heard  of  the  matter,  she  paid  the  money  and  set  the  poor 
woman  free.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  while 
taking  a  walk  with  her  servant,  she  had  occasion  to  stand 
up  under  a  porch  during  a  passing  shower,  when  she  was 
surprised  by  the  appearance  of  the  widow  and  her  children, 
who  had  been  seeking  her  all  over  the  town,  and  who  now 
fell  on  their  knees  and  poured  out  a  flood  of  thanks  and 
blessings.  Mrs.  Jordan  was  affected  to  tears ;  but,  to  end 
the  scene,  she  slipped  a  pound  note  into  the  woman's 
hand  and  bade  her  go  away  without  another  word.  As 
soon  as  the  washerwoman  had  departed,  another  person 
who,  unobserved,  had  also  taken  shelter  under  the  porch,  a 
tall,  spare,  pale-faced  man,  in  a  suit  of  rusty  black,  stepped 
forward,  and,  holding  out  his  hand,  said  with  a  sigh — '  Lady, 
pardon  the  freedom  of  a  stranger;  but  would  to  God  the 
world  were  all  like  thee ! '  Mrs.  Jordan,  who  at  once 
divined  the  man's  profession,  retired  a  pace  or  two  and  said 
good-humouredly  but  mischievously — '  No :  I  won't  shake 
hands  with  you.' — '  Why  ? ' — '  Because  you  are  a  Methodist 
preacher ;  and  when  you  know  who  I  am  you  '11  send  me  to 
the  devil ! ' — '  The  Lord  forbid  !  I  am,  as  you  say,  a 
preacher  of  Jesus  Christ ;  who  tells  us  to  clothe  the  naked, 
feed  the  hungry,  and  relieve  the  distressed:  and  do  you 
think  I  can  behold  a  sister  fulfil  the  commands  of  my  Great 
Master  without  feeling  that  spiritual  attachment  which 
leads  me  to  break  through  worldly  customs  and  offer  you 
the  hand  of  friendship  and  brotherly  love  ? ' — '  Well,  well,' 
persisted  Mrs.  Jordan,  '  you  are  a  good  old  soul,  I  dare  say ; 
but — I — I  don't  like  fanatics  :  and  you  '11  not  like  me  when 
you  know  who  I  am.' — '  I  hope  I  shall.' — '  Well,  then,  I  '11 
tell  you.  I  am  a  player.'  The  preacher  sighed.  '  Yes,  I 
am  a  player ;  and  you  must  have  heard  of  me.  My  name  is 
Mrs.  Jordan.'  The  preacher  was  staggered  for  a  moment; 
then,  smiling  sadly,  he  again  held  out  his  hand,  saying — 


382  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  The  Lord  bless  thee,  whoever  thou  art.  His  goodness  is 
unlimited.  He  has  bestowed  on  thee  a  large  portion  of  His 
spirit.  And  as  to  thy  calling,  if  thy  soul  upbraid  thee  not, 
the  Lord  forbid  that  I  should.'  When  the  rain  had  abated, 
the  preacher  offered  his  arm,  and  having  conducted  Mrs. 
Jordan  to  the  door  of  her  lodging,  again  shook  hands  as 
he  said — '  Fare  thee  well,  sister.  I  know  not  what  the 
principles  of  thy  calling  may  be :  thou  art  the  first  I  ever 
conversed  with.  But  if  their  benevolent  practices  equal 
thine,  I  hope  and  trust,  at  the  Great  Day,  the  Almighty 
will  say  to  each — Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee.' 

In  1809  a  rumour  gained  currency  that  the  Duke  of 
Clarence  and  Mrs.  Jordan  had  quarrelled  and  parted ;  and 
while  at  Bath,  on  one  of  her  profitable  little  '  cruises,'  she 
wrote  to  a  friend  telHng  how,  having  gone  one  day  to  a 
fashionable  library,  where  she  was  unknown,  to  read  the 
papers,  she  was  entertained  by  some  ladies  with  a  most 
pathetic  description  of  the  parting  between  herself  and  the 
Duke ;  her  very  dress  being  described,  and  the  whole  con- 
versation accurately  repeated.  In  another  letter,  written 
from  Bushy  near  about  the  same  date,  she  says : — 

'  With  regard  to  the  report  of  my  quarrel  with  the  Duke,  every 
day  of  our  past  and  present  lives  must  give  the  lie  to  it.  He  is  an 
example  for  half  the  husbands  and  fathers  in  the  world ;  the  best 
of  masters,  and  the  most  firm  and  generous  of  friends.  I  will,  in 
a  day  or  two,  avail  myself  of  your  kind  offers  to  contradict  these 
odious,  and  truly  wicked  reports.' 

Scarcely  two  years  afterwards,  however,  when  their  con- 
nection had  lasted  twenty  years,  and  her  happiness  had  not 
been  interrupted,  as  she  declared,  by  even  the  semblance  of 
a  quarrel  during  the  whole  time,  there  came  a  bolt  from  the 
blue.  While  acting  at  Cheltenham,  she  received  a  letter 
from  the  Duke  informing  her  that  their  connection  must 
cease,  and  desiring  her  to  meet  him  at  Maidenhead  to  bid 


DORA  JORDAN  383 

each  other  farewell.  She  had  one  night  more  to  play ;  and 
courageously  went  down  to  the  theatre,  notwithstanding  a 
succession  of  fainting  fits  which  had  been  brought  on  by  the 
unexpected  and  astounding  announcement.  She  managed 
to  struggle  on  through  her  part,  until  she  arrived  at  a 
passage  where  she  was  supposed  to  have  been  made  laughing 
drunk.  But  when  she  attempted  to  laugh,  she  burst  into 
tears  instead.  Of  course  the  audience  knew  nothing  of 
what  had  happened  to  her ;  and  the  scene  was  saved  by  the 
actor  with  whom  she  was  playing  altering  his  text,  and  with 
great  readiness  exclaiming — '  Why,  Nell,  the  conjuror  has 
not  only  made  thee  drunk;  he  has  made  thee  crying  drunk.' 
As  soon  as  the  performance  was  over,  she  hurried  off  in  a 
travelling  chariot,  just  as  she  was,  in  her  stage  dress,  to  keep 
her  appointment  with  the  Duke.  What  passed  between 
them  has  never  been  made  known.  Sir  Jonah  Barrington 
declares  that  the  cause  of  their  separation  was  in  no  way 
discreditable  to  either  party ;  and  that  the  Duke  did  not  desert 
her ;  but  that  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life  his  solicitude  was 
undiminished,  while  he  never  lost  sight  of  her  interests  or 
her  comforts.  This  is  certainly  somewhat  hard  to  reconcile 
with  the  facts;  and  if  Barrington  were  so  sure  that  'not  o??e 
of  all  the  accounts  and  surmises  was  true,'  he  might  have 
given  us  at  least  some  indication  of  what  the  true  cause  of  the 
separation  was.  Greville,  writing  in  his  Diary  after  William's 
death  in  1837,  said  that  up  to  that  date  the  separation  had 
not  been  explained;  but  he  surmised  it  to  arise  from  the 
Duke's  desire  to  better  his  condition  by  a  good  marriage. 
We  know  from  one  of  Elizabeth,  Duchess  of  Devonshire's 
letters  to  Augustus  Foster  that  before  November  1811  the 
Duke  had  proposed  to  Miss  Long,  and  had  been  rejected ; 
though  the  Duchess  adds  '  they  say  that  he  don't  despair,' 
And  his  various  real  or  supposed  matrimonial  projects  about 
this  time  were  sufficiently  notorious  to  beget  a  couple  of 


384  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

volumes   of  iudifferent  verses  from  Peter  Pindar  entitled 
The  R—l   Lovers  and    The   Three    R—l  Bloods.      In  fact, 
from  1811  to  1817  he  appears  to  have  been  going  about,  like 
Coelebs,  in  search  of  a  wife.     Captain  Gronow  relates  in  his 
Reminiscences  that  in  the  latter  year,  the  Duke,  being  still 
bent  upon  improving  his  pecuniary  position  by  marrying  a 
rich  heiress,  had,  with  the  consent  of  his  brother,  the  Prince 
Regent,  proposed  to  Miss  Wykeham  (described  by  Greville  as 
a  '  half-crazy  woman '  on  whom  William,  after  his  accession, 
conferred  a  peerage),  but  of  whom  Gronow  only  observes  that 
she  had  large  estates  in  Oxfordshire  of  immense  value.    The 
report  of  this  projected  alliance  seems  to  have  created  con- 
sternation in  the  royal  family.       Queen  Charlotte  was  in 
violent  agitation;  and  the  law  officers  of  the  crown  were 
consulted  to  see  whether  such  marriage  could  not  be  pre- 
vented.   But  after  a  little  while  the  Morning  Post  announced 
that  the  Duke's  intended  marriage  was  'off';  and  it  was 
generally  supposed  that  the  Queen  and  other  members  of 
the  royal  family  had  subscribed  to  pay  off  the  Duke's  debts 
and  give  him  a  little  money  to  go  on  with.     That  Greville's 
supposition  was  probably  correct  receives  some  confirmation 
from  certain  letters  of  Mrs.  Jordan  to  Boaden.     A  few  days 
after  the  startling  announcement  had  been  made,  she  wrote 
from  Bushy : — 

'  Money,  money,  my  good  friend,  or  the  want  of  it,  has,  I  am 
convinced,  made  HIM  at  this  moment  the  most  wretched  of  men. 
But  with  all  his  excellent  qualities,  his  domestic  virtues,  his 
love  for  his  lovely  children,  what  must  he  not  at  this  moment 
suffer.  .  .  . 

'All  his  letters  are  full  of  the  most  unquahfied  praise  of  my 
conduct ;  and  it  is  the  most  heartfelt  blessing  to  know  that  to  the 
best  of  my  power  I  have  endeavoured  to  deserve  it.  ...  I  have 
received  the  greatest  kindness  and  attention  from  the  Regent,  and 
every  branch  of  the  royal  family,  who,  in  the  most  unreserved  terms, 
deplore  this  melancholy  business.     The  whole  correspondence  is 


DORA  JORDAN  385 

before  the  Regent,  and  I  am  proud  to  add  that  my  past  and 
present  conduct  has  secured  me  a  friend  who  declares  he  will  never 
forsake  me.  My  forbearance,  he  says,  is  beyond  what  he  could 
have  imagined  ;  but  what  will  not  a  woman  do  who  is  firmly  and 
sincerely  attached  1  Had  he  left  me  to  starve,  I  never  would  have 
uttered  a  word  to  his  disadvantage.  .  .  . 

'And  now,  my  dear  friend,  do  not  hear  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
unfairly  abused.  He  has  done  wrong,  and  he  is  sufifering  for  it. 
But  as  far  as  he  has  left  it  in  his  own  power,  he  is  doiug  every- 
thing kind  and  noble,  even  to  the  distressing  himself.' 

And  on  the  7th  of  December  she  wrote  to  the  same  corre- 
spondent from  St.  James's  : — 

'  I  lose  not  a  moment  in  letting  you  know  that  the  Duke  of 
Clarence  has  concluded  and  settled  on  me  and  on  his  children  the 
most  liberal  and  generous  provision  ;  and  I  trust  everything  will 
sink  into  oblivion.' 

It  will  be  necessary  to  re-examine  these  letters  presently ; 
but  in  the  meantime  we  may  go  on  with  the  story.  It  was 
not  long  before  Mrs.  Jordan  secured  a  number  of  lucrative 
engagements.  From  1811  to  1814  she  acted  at  Covent 
Garden  and  in  the  provinces ;  and,  according  to  Barrington, 
was  able  to  earn  the  incredibly  large  sum  of  £7000  in  a 
single  year.  Boaden  had  his  doubts  about  so  high  a  figure 
as  this ;  but  says  that  she  was,  up  to  the  time  of  her  final 
performances  at  Margate  in  the  summer  of  1815,  extra- 
ordinarily successful. 

The  year  1814,  however,  was  a  time  of  great  domestic 
trouble  and  anxiety.  Two  of  her  sons,  George  and  Henry 
Fitzclarence,  together  with  several  other  officers  of  the  10th 
Royal  Hussars,  had  ventured  to  accuse  their  commanding 
officer,  Colonel  Quentin,  of  neglect  and  incapacity  in  the 
field.  There  is  no  need  to  tell  the  whole  story  here ;  but  the 
result  was  that  although  the  Colonel  was  court-martialled  and 
reprimanded,  the  ofiicers  who  had  ventured  to  criticise  their 
erring  commander  were  summarily  dismissed  from  the  regi- 

2  B 


386  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

ment.  Soon  after,  the  two  Fitzclarences  were  sent  out  to 
India ;  where  Henry  died  three  years  later,  without  having 
obtained  any  farther  advancement  in  his  profession.  This 
affair  seems  to  have  atfected  Mrs.  Jordan  almost  as  power- 
fully as  a  far  more  serious  trouble  with  another  branch  of 
her  family.  Her  son-in-law,  Alsop,  appears  to  have  been  a 
dissolute  and  extravagant  man,  whose  affairs  in  1814  had 
become  so  involved  that  he  was  sent  out  to  India  in  attend- 
ance on  Lord  Moira,  with  the  view,  says  Boaden,  that  he 
might,  after  obtainmg  some  suitable  employment  there,  send 
for  his  wife  to  join  him.  He  did  obtain  a  very  satisfactory 
post  as  Civil  Magistrate  at  Calcutta;  where  he  remained, 
without  his  wife,  to  the  end  of  his  days.  It  appears,  how- 
ever, from  a  letter  written  by  Mrs.  Jordan  in  December  of 
this  year,  that  Mrs.  Alsop  must  have  been  as  much  to  blame 
as  her  husband.  '  You  talk  of  Mrs.  A.'s  desire  to  go  to  her 
husband,'  she  writes.  '  If  it  were  affection  or  duty  that 
prompted  her,  I  should  pity,  though  even  in  that  case  it 
would  at  this  time  be  out  of  my  power  to  forward  her  wishes ; 
but  this  is  not  the  case,  as  you  must  know.'  In  what  way 
Mrs.  Alsop  had  shown  the  '  ingratitude '  with  which  she  was 
charged  does  not  appear;  but  it  can  have  been  no  light 
matter  which  caused  so  affectionate  a  mother  to  suspend  all 
direct  communications,  and  to  write  about  her  in  the  follow- 
ing strain : — 

'I  therefore,  for  the  last  time,  most  solemnly  declare  to  her, 
through  you,  that  these  are  the  last  and  only  propositions  that 
shall  ever  be  offered.  That  she  shall  go  to  her  uncle  in  Wales, 
where  I  will  pay  £40  a  year  for  her  board  and  lodging,  allowing  her 
£50  a  year  for  clothes,  till  such  time  as  her  husband  may  be  able  to 
maintain  her  abroad,  when  every  exertion  shall  be  made  to  send 
her  out.  If  she  refuses  this,  I  here  sivear,  by  the  most  heart- 
breaking oath  that  presents  itself  to  my  tortured  mind,  that  "May 
I  never  see  again  those  two  sacrificed  young  men  [i.e.  the  two 
cashiered  Fitzclarences]  if  I  ever  (if  possible)  think  of  her  again 
as  a  child  that  has  any  claim  on  me.'" 


DOHA  JORDAN  387 

From  this  point  to  the  end,  Mrs.  Jordan's  history  is  involved 
in  a  cloud  of  mystery.  All  that  the  public  learned  at  the 
time  was  that,  after  a  most  successful  series  of  performances 
in  1815,  Mrs.  Jordan  in  the  autumn  of  that  year  retired  to 
France,  and  they  heard  no  more  of  her  until  in  July  1816  the 
newspapers  announced  her  death  at  St.  Cloud.  But  when  it 
became  known  that  her  property  had  been  sworn  under  £300 ; 
and  there  appeared  in  the  Morning  Post  of  December  8, 
1823,  an  advertisement  to  the  effect  that  the  creditors  of  the 
late  Dorothea  Jordan,  who  had  proved  their  debts,  might 
receive  a  dividend  of  five  shillings  in  the  pound  by  applying 
to  the  office  of  the  Solicitor  to  the  Treasury,  there  was  natur- 
ally enough  an  outcry ;  and  the  royal  lover  who  had  discarded 
her,  and  to  all  appearance  left  her  to  die  in  poverty  and  exile, 
came  in  for  a  good  deal  of  animadversion.  It  was  in  vain 
that  a  new  Sunday  paper,  called  the  Weekly  Globe,  in  its  first 
number,  which  appeared  on  January  4,  1824,  explained  that 
it  was  merely  because  Mrs.  Jordan  had  died  intestate  in 
France  that  her  property  vested  in  the  Crown  and  made  it 
necessary  for  the  King's  solicitor  to  collect  her  effects  and 
apply  them  in  the  first  instance  to  the  payment  of  her  debts, 
just  as  would  have  been  done  in  the  case  of  any  other  British 
subject  dying  abroad  intestate ;  and  attempted  to  stem  the 
tide  of  '  bitter  invective  against  a  Royal  Personage  formerly 
connected  with  that  interesting  female  by  many  dear  and 
intimate  ties,'  by  announcing  that  he  had  settled  on  her 
an  income  of  £2000  a  year,  the  last  quarter  of  which  (though 
not  due  until  after  the  date  of  her  death)  had  been  paid  to 
a  representative  whom  she  had  sent  over  from  France  to 
receive  it  for  her.  Popular  feeling  ran  high ;  and  it  was  felt 
that  some  further  explanation  was  advisable.  Accordingly, 
three  weeks  later,  Mr.  John  Barton,  an  official  of  the  Royal 
Mint  (and  also  private  secretary  to  His  Royal  Highness),  act- 
ing as  he  declared  on  his  own  initiative,  took  up  the  task  of 


388  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

justifying  his  '  illustrious  master'  in  a  communication  which 
occupied  something  over  a  column  of  the  Morning  Post. 
Not  only,  he  said,  had  the  whole  of  the  arrangements  made 
at  the  separation  of  the  Duke  and  Mrs.  Jordan  passed 
through  his  hands,  but  it  was  also  at  his  suggestion  that  in 
1815  Mrs.  Jordan  left  this  country  for  France,  the  reason  for 
this  step  being  that  it  would  enable  her  readily  and  honour- 
ably to  extricate  herself  from  certain  troubles  into  which 
she  had  fallen  through  a  misplaced  confidence.  At  the 
separation  in  1811,  said  Mr.  Barton,  it  was  agreed  that  Mrs. 
Jordan  should  have  the  care,  until  a  certain  age,  of  her  four 
youngest  daughters,  and  that  the  Duke  should  pay  to  her 
annually — 

For  the  maintenance  of  his  four  daughters,        .  £1500 

For  a  house  and  carriage  for  their  use,  .             .  600 

For  Mrs.  Jordan's  own  use,        .             .             .  1500 
To  enable  Mrs.  Jordan  to  make  provision  for 
her  married  daughters  (children  of  a  former 

connection),    .....  SOO 

Total,     .  .      £4400 

A  trustee  was  appointed,  and  the  moneys  were  paid 
quarterly  to  the  respective  accounts  in  Coutts's  bank.  It 
was  stipulated,  however,  that  in  the  event  of  Mrs.  Jordan 
resuming  her  profession  of  actress,  the  care  of  the  Duke's 
four  daughters  and  the  money  appropriated  for  their  use 
should  revert  to  him.  This  event  did  take  place  in  the 
course  of  a  few  months,  in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Jordan's 
decision  to  accept  certain  profitable  engagements  to  per- 
form. At  the  time  of  this  settlement,  moreover,  says  Mr. 
Barton,  'everything  in  the  shape  of  a  money  transaction 
was  brought  to  account,'  even  the  most  trifling  sums  (lent 
to  the  Duke,  we  may  presume)  being  admitted,  interest 
being  calculated  up  to  date,  and  the  balance  paid  to  Mrs. 


DORA  JORDAN  389 

Jordan,  whose  receipt  for  the  same  remained  in  his  hands. 
After  this,  Mr.  Barton  had  no  correspondence  with  Mrs. 
Jordan  until,  in  September  1815,  he  was  surprised  by  a 
note  requesting  him  to  call  on  her.  He  found  her  in  tears  ; 
and  learned  that  she  had  given  acceptances  in  blank,  upon 
stamped  paper,  which  she  supposed  to  be  for  small  sums, 
but  which  had  afterwards  been  filled  up  for  large  amounts. 
All  she  required,  declares  Barton,  in  order  to  set  her  mind 
at  ease  on  the  extent  of  the  demand  which  might  be  made 
out  against  her,  was  that  the  person  who  had  plunged  her 
into  all  these  difficulties  should  declare  on  oath  that  the 
list  he  had  given  her  included  the  whole.  This  the  person 
referred  to  from  time  to  time  refused  to  do;  and  Mrs. 
Jordan  sank  under  the  strain  and  died  at  St.  Cloud.  Such 
is  Mr.  Barton's  statement:  which  may  be  taken  as  the 
authorised  and  official  case  for  the  Duke.  Sir  Jonah 
Barrington,  who,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  also  a  friend  of 
the  Duke's,  in  his  Personal  Sketches  of  his  Own  Times, 
written  in  1828,  asserts  that  at  the  moment  of  her  death 
Mrs.  Jordan  could  have  lived  not  only  in  comfort  but  in 
luxury.  She  had,  he  declares,  money  in  the  bank,  money 
in  the  Funds,  and  money  in  miscellaneous  property;  and 
could  have  commanded  any  sums  she  thought  proper 
during  the  whole  time  of  her  residence  in  France.  His 
notion  is  that  she  '  took  a  whim  to  affect  poverty.'  The 
reason  why  she  emigrated,  pined  away,  and  expired  in  a 
foreign  land,  was  a  miserable  story  that  should  never  be 
told  by  his  pen.  This  much  only  he  will  say,  that  it  was  a 
transaction  wherein  her  Royal  Friend  had,  neither  directly 
nor  indirectly,  any  concern  whatever,  nor  did  it  spring  out 
of  anything  in  that  connection.  At  the  same  time,  as 
Boaden  points  out,  Sir  Jonah  by  no  means  obscurely  hints 
that  it  was  entirely  due  to  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Jordan's 
son-in-law,  Alsop,  who  had  forfeited  his  honour,  betrayed 


390  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

her  confidence,  and  repaid  her  benevolence  with  ruin.  At 
the  time  Sir  Jonah  wrote,  both  Alsop  and  his  wife  were 
dead.  But  Boaden  prints  a  statement  which  (although  his 
account  of  its  authorship  is  rather  confused)  he  had 
apparently  previously  obtained  from  the  incriminated  son- 
in-law.  According  to  this  document,  Mrs.  Jordan  was 
unexpectedly  called  upon  in  the  autumn  of  1815  to  redeem 
some  securities  given  by  her  for  money  raised  to  assist  a 
near  relative;  and  finding  herself  unable  to  advance  the 
£2000  required,  she  retired  to  France,  deputing  a  friend  in 
England  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for  paying  all 
the  creditors  as  soon  as  possible.  Before  she  left  England, 
a  statement  of  all  claims  against  her  was  made  out,  which 
shoAved  that  her  total  liabilities  did  not  exceed  £2000.  At 
this  time,  the  statement  proceeds,  she  was  in  receipt  of  an 
annual  income  of  over  £2000,  '  paid  with  the  greatest 
punctuality  quarterly,  without  demur,  drawback,  or  impedi- 
ment, and  so  continued  to  the  hour  of  her  death.'  When 
she  went  to  France  it  was  with  the  intention  of  staying 
about  ten  days  only,  to  enable  arrangements  to  be  made  to 
save  her  from  any  danger  of  arrest.  But  when  month  after 
month  elapsed  without  these  arrangements  being  made,  her 
mind  became  troubled.  The  lady  companion  she  took  with 
her  (Miss  Sketchley),  who  had  at  one  time  been  governess 
to  her  children,  and  for  the  last  twelve  months  her  own 
constant  attendant,  came  to  England  in  January  1816  to 
receive  and  take  back  Mrs.  Jordan's  quarterl}'  allowance. 
But  this  lady,  while  in  England,  made  mischief  with  the 
bondholders,  and  (for  some  unexplained  reason)  informed 
Mrs.  Jordan's  children  not  only  that  their  mother's  future 
place  of  residence  in  France  was  to  be  kept  a  profound 
secret  even  from"  them,  but  that  all  letters  must  in  the 
future  be  sent  to  her  through  a  third  person  and  addressed 
to  Mrs.  James.     It  was  this  cutting  off  of  all  direct  com- 


r'A/?v? 


jjfLM-.-^^-  DORA  JORDAN  391 

munications  from  England  which,  if  this  statement  is  to 
be  credited,  finally  unhinged  Mrs.  Jordan's  mind,  and  was 
the  cause  of  her  death. 

The  undeniable  fact  that  she  was  in  needy  circumstances 
so  soon  after  her  separation  from  the  Duke  of  Clarence  has 
been,  and  still  remains,  a  puzzle  to  all  Avho  have  attempted 
to  investigate  the  matter.  During  the  twenty  years  of  her 
connection  with  the  royal  Duke,  it  would  be  only  natural  to 
suppose,  as  her  '  Confidential  Friend '  observes,  that  she 
would  not  be  called  upon  to  pay  the  house  rent  or  the 
expenses  of  the  royal  table.  But  his  estimate  that  her 
earnings  for  the  whole  of  that  period  averaged  £4000  a 
year,  and  that  consequently,  even  after  providing  marriage 
portions  of  £10,000  for  each  of  her  three  daughters  by  Ford, 
she  ought  to  have  been  possessed  of  over  £100,000  at  the 
time  of  the  separation,  is  doubtless  somewhat  too  high. 
But  even  if  we  suppose  her  earnings  to  have  averaged  only 
half  as  much,  this  would  have  given  her,  even  after  provid- 
ing for  the  three  marriage  portions,  a  very  liberal  margin 
for  her  own  dress  and  personal  expenditure,  while  leaving 
her  free  to  save  at  least  the  royal  allowance  of  £1000  a  year, 
which  (as  Mr.  Barton,  in  the  semi-official  statement  already 
referred  to,  assures  us)  was  regularly  paid.  One  thousand 
pounds  every  year,  for  nineteen  years,  placed  out  at  five  per 
cent,  compound  interest  (a  rate  then  easily  obtainable), 
would  have  provided  Mrs.  Jordan,  at  the  date  of  the  separa- 
tion, with  an  invested  capital  of  £32,066,  bringing  in  an 
income  of  £1600  a  year.  If  we  add  to  this  the  £2300  per 
annum  which  remained  to  her,  according  to  the  terms  of 
the  separation  settlement,  after  she  had  given  up  the  Duke's 
children  and  their  allowance  to  their  father,  she  would  have 
been  in  possession  of  a  settled  income  of  £3900  a  year,  in 
addition  to  the  large  earnings  which  she  admittedly  made 
between  1811  and  1815,  and  which  would  undoubtedly  have 


392  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

raised  it  to  close  upon  £6000.     Even  if  we  suppose  that  at 
the  time  of  the  separation  she  had  no  savings,  but  in  addi- 
tion to  her  earnings    after  that    date  (which  it  is   a  low 
estimate  to  place  at  £2000  a  year),  had  nothing  but  the 
Duke's  allowance,  is  it  credible  that,  with  £4300  per  annum 
coming  in,  she  could  possibl}^  have  been  driven  to  exile  and 
despair  by  the  unexpected  demand  for  a  sum  not  exceeding 
£2000  ?     Some  other  explanation  is  quite  evidently  neces- 
sary.    Boaden's  suggestion  that  the  money  alleged  to  have 
been  paid  to  Mrs.  Jordan  at  the  time  of  the  separation, 
'  with  interest  calculated  to  date,'  consisted  of  '  some  part  of 
her  fortune '  which  she  had  placed  at  the '  temporary  disposi- 
tion of  her  illustrious  friend,'  only  makes  the  matter  worse ; 
as  also  does  his  assertion  that  not  one-half  of  the  promised 
marriage  portions  of  any  of  her  daughters  was  ever  paid ;  for, 
if  this  were  the  case,  she  ought  at  the  time  of  the  separa- 
tion to  have  been  possessed  of  an  even  larger  capital.   In  fact, 
there  seems  to  be  no  escape  from  one  of  two  conclusions. 
Either,  as  Boaden  very  delicately  hints,  her  sons  in  the  army 
must  have  been  a  perpetual  and  exhausting  drain  on  her 
resources ;  or,  as  the  epigrammatist  '  Pindar  Junr. '  put  it, 
instead  of  the  Duke  keeping  her,  she  must  for  twent}^  years 
have  been  keeping  him.     Something  may  doubtless  be  said 
in  favour  of  the  former  supposition.    Those  semi-royal  young 
gentlemen   were  doubtless  very   expensive    to   keep;    and 
neither  the  father's  money  nor  his  influence  may  have  been 
sufficient  to  satisfy  all  their  wishes.     In  fact,  he  could  not 
satisfy  them  with  the  far  greater  means  at  his  disposal  after 
he  had  come  to  the  throne ;  for  Greville  diarises  to  the  effect 
that,  although  one  of  William's  main  occupations  was  to 
provide  as  handsomely  as  possible  for  his  family,  all  the  sons, 
except  Adolphus,  behaved  to  him  with  great  insolence  and 
ingratitude.      And  Joseph   Jekyll,   in   a   letter  written   in 
September  1833,  hints  at  something  of  the  same  kind  when 


DORA  JORDAN  393 

he  refers  to  the  Windsor  treasurer's  grumbling  at  '  snug 
dinners  to  one  hundred  and  twenty  tags  and  rags  every 
week.'  Jekyll  says  that  poor  Wilham  had  no  other  expenses, 
for  he  bought  no  pictures,  statues,  racehorses,  or  diamonds 
for  pretty  ladies.  But  '  his  babies,  they  say,  pillage  him,  as 
the  parish  does  not  feed  illegitimates ' ;  and  the  caustic  wit 
declares  he  would  like  to  ask  the  King,  as  Foote  did  another 
poor  man  who  Avas  cursed  with  twelve  children — '  When  do 
you  begin  to  drown?'  But  they  could  not  have  pillaged 
their  mother  also,  to  any  great  extent,  while  they  were  quite 
young  babies ;  and  even  if  she  did  have  to  contribute  towards 
the  expenses  of  her  military  sons,  it  could  only  have  been 
for  a  very  short  time.  From  a  letter  written  by  Colonel 
Frederick  Fitzclarence  to  Mrs.  Jordan  during  her  exile  in 
France  (which  is  printed  in  Boaden's  Life),  it  is  evident  that 
he,  at  any  rate,  was  at  that  time  in  receipt  of  an  allowance 
from  her  as  well  as  from  his  father.  But,  as  Frederick  was 
only  twelve  years  of  age  at  the  date  of  the  separation,  that 
drain  could  only  account  for  the  disappearance  of  a  com- 
paratively small  sum.  There  is  no  direct  proof,  of  course, 
in  favour  of  the  second  supposition  that  some  part  of 
Mrs.  Jordan's  fortune  had  been  placed,  as  Boaden  euphe- 
mistically phrases  it,  at  the  temporary  disposition  of  her  illus- 
trious friend ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  else  could  have 
become  of  the  great  bulk  of  her  large  earnings  during  the 
twenty  years  of  their  life  together.  And  what  other  interpre- 
tation is  to  be  put  upon  certain  expressions  in  the  letter 
quoted  some  pages  back  wherein  she  says  that  the  whole 
correspondence  had  been  placed  before  the  Regent,  who  had 
characterised  her  '  forbearance '  as  '  beyond  what  he  could 
have  imagined.'  What,  other  than  a  pecuniary  one,  could 
have  been  the  nature  of  this  '  forbearance,'  shown  by  a  mere 
actress  towards  his  royal  brother,  that  was  sufficient  to  arouse 
the  wonder  and  admiration  of  George  iv.  ?     And  what  else 


394  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

can  be  the  meaning  of  the  words  which  immediately  follow : 
'  but  what  would  not  a  woman  do  who  is  firmly  and  sincerely 
attached  ?     Had  he  left  me  to  starve,  I  never  would  have 
uttered  a  word  to  his  disadvantage '  ?     The  inference  seems 
to  be  irresistible  that  at  the  time  of  their  separation  the 
Duke  of  Clarence  was  hopelessly  in  debt  to  Mrs.  Jordan ; 
and  that  the  repayment  of  the  money,  '  with  interest  calcu- 
lated to  date,'  about  which,  seven  years  after  Mrs.  Jordan 
was  dead  and  gone,  Mr.  Barton  made  such  a  flourish,  was  a 
mere  paper    arrangement,  she  giving  her  royal  but  impe- 
cunious  lover   an   acquittance   for  which  she  received   no 
equivalent.      '  What  would  not  a  woman  do  who  is  firmly 
and  sincerely  attached?'     And  the  'liberal  and  generous 
provision '  for  herself  and  his  children  was  probably  of  no 
greater  cash  value.     Who,  indeed,  that  knows  anything  of 
the  financial  condition  of  His  Royal  Highness,  can  suggest 
where  the  money  was  to  come  from  ?     And,  at  any  rate,  as 
already  pointed  out,  the  alleged  punctual  payment  of  the 
specified  allowance  is  altogether  incompatible  with  the  dis- 
tress in  which  Mrs.  Jordan  was  plunged  in  the  autumn  of 
1815.      Is  it  not  highly  probable  that  when   she  sent  to 
Mr.  Barton  in  September  of  that  year,  her  'unexpected' 
note  was  an  unexpected  request  that  on  this  occasion  at  least 
she  might  receive  some  of  the  promised  money ;  and  that 
his  inability  to  provide  her  with  any  funds  at  the  moment 
led  to  what  he  admits  was  his  suggestion  that  she  should 
retire  for  a  time  to  the  Continent  ?    It  is  perhaps  not  without 
significance   in   this  connection  that  when  Queen  Victoria 
came  to  the  throne  she  enchanted  everybody,  as  the  garru- 
lous Creevy  tells  us,  by  her  munificence  to  the  Fitzclarences. 
Besides  their  pensions  out  of  the  public  pension  list,  they 
had,  he  says,  nearly  £10,000  a  year  given  them  by  their 
father  out  of  his  privy  purse,  every  farthing  of  which  the 
new   Queen   continued   out   of    her    privy   purse.      Queen 


DORA  JORDAN  395 

Victoria,  as  is  well  known,  looked  with  no  favourable  eye  on 
irregular  connections.  But  her  otherwise  surprising  munifi- 
cence would  be  accounted  for  if  we  may  suppose  her  to  have 
had  evidence  that  the  father  of  these  Fitzclarences,  and  her 
predecessor  on  the  throne,  had  been  largely  indebted  for  the 
support  of  himself  and  his  children  to  the  earnings  of  a 
discarded  actress. 

And  it  is  not  only  the  mystery  of  Mrs.  Jordan's  money 
which  requires  clearing  up,  but  the  mystery  also  of  Mrs. 
Jordan's  death.  Towards  the  end  of  June  1816  one  of  the 
daughters  received  a  letter  from  Miss  Sketchley  informing 
her  that,  after  a  few  days'  illness,  her  mother  had  died  at 
St.  Cloud.  Three  days  later,  a  second  letter  arrived  from  the 
same  lady  saying  that  she  had  been  deceived  by  Mrs.  Jordan's 
appearance,  who  was  still  alive,  though  very  ill.  Before 
arrangements  could  be  made  for  the  daughter  (who  had  a 
month-old  baby)  to  go  to  her  mother,  a  third  letter  arrived, 
announcing  that  Mrs.  Jordan  was  this  time  really  dead. 
General  Hawker,  her  son-in-law,  went  off  at  once  to  France, 
and  arrived  at  St.  Cloud  about  three  days  after  the  inter- 
ment had  taken  place.  Barrington  says  that  Mrs.  Jordan 
went  first  to  Boulogne,  and,  after  a  short  stay  there,  to  Ver- 
sailles, and  that,  later,  when  she  went  to  St.  Cloud,  she  lived 
entirely  secluded,  and  passed  by  the  name  of  Johnson. 
Some  time  afterwards  he  visited  the  place,  and  found  that 
she  had  had  apartments  in  a  large,  gloomy,  cold,  dilapidated 
house,  adjoining  the  palace.  The  master  of  the  house  in- 
formed him  that,  from  the  first  moment  of  her  arrival,  she 
had  exhibited  the  most  restless  anxiety  for  intelligence  from 
England.  Every  letter  she  received  seemed  to  have  a 
different  effect  on  her  feelings ;  and  she  became  more  anxious 
and  miserable  as  time  went  on,  lying  from  morning  till  night, 
sighing,  upon  her  sofa.  One  morning  she  eagerly  requested 
him  to  go  to  the  post  for  her  letters,  that  she  might  have 


396  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

them  before  the  usual  hour  of  delivery.  On  his  return,  she 
started  up,  holding  out  her  hand.  He  told  her  there  were 
no  letters  for  her.  Whereupon  she  stood  motionless  for  a 
moment,  looking  at  him  with  a  vacant  stare,  then  held  out 
her  hand  again,  then  withdrew  it,  and  finally  sank  down  on 
her  sofa  and  breathed  her  last.  This  account  contains  no 
reference  to  Miss  Sketchley,  or  to  the  first  seizure  which  that 
lady  had  mistaken  for  death.  The  '  Confidential  Friend ' 
adds  another  item  to  the  mystery.  He  says  that  he  received 
the  following  story  from  a  man  who  had  known  Mrs.  Jordan 
intimately  when  he  was  in  business  in  London  as  confec- 
tioner to  George  iii.  This  person,  whose  London  business 
had  fallen  off,  had  established  himself  in  the  same  line 
in  Paris;  and,  in  1816,  hearing  that  Mrs.  Jordan  was  at 
St.  Cloud,  he  went  there  to  call  upon  her.  To  his  surprise, 
however,  he  found  that  she  was  surrounded  by  spies,  and 
after  many  questions  had  been  asked  him,  and  evasive 
answers  given  to  all  his  inquiries,  he  had  to  return  to  Paris 
without  obtaining  an  interview.  Shortly  after  this  he 
received  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Jordan  entreating  him  to  come 
after  midnight  beneath  a  certain  window  in  the  house  in 
which  she  was  living.  He  went,  and  she  told  him  she  was 
kept  there  in  captivity,  and  was  without  money  to  enable 
her  to  escape.  She  gladly  received  the  18  or  20  francs  which 
her  nocturnal  visitor  happened  to  have  in  his  pocket ;  and 
he  then  arranged  that  he  would  return  to  her  the  following 
night  with  £20.  Next  day  he  brought  the  money  according 
to  promise,  and  it  was  then  agreed  that  ten  days  after- 
wards he  should  come  for  her,  and  she  would  travel  with 
him  to  England.  He  duly  arrived  on  the  appointed  day, 
but  only  to  be  told  that  Mrs.  Jordan  had  died  the  day 
previous.  When  to  all  this  we  have  to  add  that  there  are 
two  divergent  accounts  of  the  funeral ;  that  in  1819,  accord- 
ing to  Galignani's  Messenger,  there  was  a  debt  of  sixty  fi'ancs 


DORA  JORDAN  397 

still  due  and  unpaid  to  the  municipality  of  St.  Cloud  for  the 
ground  she  was  buried  in ;  and  that,  as  Barrington  declares, 
when  he  subsequently  visited  the  cemetery,  there  was  no 
stone  to  tell  where  she  lay,  it  is  perhaps  scarcely  surprising 
that  for  some  years  a  report  prevailed  that  she  was  not  dead 
after  all.  Boaden,  who  had  known  her  well  enough  for 
something  like  eighteen  years,  believed  that  he  saw  her, 
long  after  1816,  in  London. 

'  She  was  near-sighted  [he  writes]  and  wore  a  glass  attached  to 
a  gold  chain  about  her  neck  ;  her  manner  of  using  this  to  assist 
her  sight  was  extremely  peculiar.  I  was  taking  a  very  usual  walk 
before  dinner,  and  I  stopped  at  a  bookseller's  window  on  the  left 
side  of  Piccadilly  to  look  at  an  embellishment  to  some  new  publi- 
cation that  struck  my  eye.  On  a  sudden,  a  lady  stood  by  my  side, 
who  had  stopt  with  a  similar  impulse.  To  my  conviction  it  was 
Mrs.  Jordan.  As  she  did  not  speak,  but  dropt  a  long  white  veil  im- 
mediately over  her  face,  I  concluded  that  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
recognised,  and  therefore,  however  I  should  have  wished  an  ex- 
planation of  what  so  surprised  me,  I  yielded  to  her  pleasure  upon 
the  occasion,  grounded,  I  had  no  doubt,  upon  sufficient  reasons.' 

He  afterwards  learned  that  Mrs.  Alsop  was  confident  that 
she  had  met  her  mother  in  the  Strand,  after  the  report  of 
her  death,  the  shock  throwing  her  into  fits  at  the  time,  and 
nothing  being  able  to  persuade  her  to  the  day  of  her  death 
that  she  had  been  deceived. 

The  suggestion  has  never  been  made  that  the  Duke  of 
Clarence  parted  from  Mrs.  Jordan  because  he  was  tired  of 
her,  or  because,  like  his  amorous  brother,  his  fickle  fancy  had 
transferred  itself  to  some  other  charmer.  On  the  contrary, 
there  is  ample  evidence  that  he  maintained  his  affection  and 
admiration  to  the  end  of  his  days.  Moore  notes  in  his  Diary 
that  one  day  at  dinner  at  Sir  Benjamin  Brodie's  in  1836, 
Chantrey  told  him  of  a  group  he  had  just  executed  for  the 
King  of  Mrs.  Jordan  and  some  of  her  children,  and  described 
the  strong  feeling  which   the  King  evinced  when  he  first 


398  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

proposed  the  task  to  him,  saymg  that  it  had  been  for  many 
years  his  intention  to  have  such  a  memorial  executed  as 
soon  as  he  should  be  in  a  situation  to  afford  it.  And  the 
Meinoirs  of  Charles  Mathews  (the  elder)  contain  an  even 
more  emphatic  testimony.  Mathews  attended  on  the  Duke 
at  Bushy  one  morning  in  November  1826,  and  was  shown 
into  the  room  where  His  Royal  Highness  and  the  Duchess 
had  just  breakfasted.  The  latter,  after  a  few  gracious  and 
comphmentary  words  about  the  comedian's  performance  of 
the  previous  day,  left  them;  and  at  that  very  moment 
Mathews's  Qye  was  caught  by  a  life-sized  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Jordan,  hanging  over  the  chimney-piece.  The  Duke,  observ- 
ing his  look,  said — '  I  know  you  have  a  collection  of  theatrical 
portraits,  Mr.  Mathews,  which  I  shall  ask  to  see  some  day. 
I  hope  you  have  not  one  like  that  ? '  Mathews  seems  to  have 
shown  that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  answer  such  a  rather 
enigmatical  question,  and  the  Duke  went  on  to  say — '  I  mean 
so  good  a  likeness.  I  should  be  vexed  that  anybody  possessed 
such  a  one  but  m3'self — a  better  one  it  is  not  possible  to  find, 
and  I  should  not  like  anybody  else  to  have  as  good  a  one.' 
Then,  gazing  on  the  picture,  he  said  with  strong  emphasis 
and  emotion — '  She  was  one  of  the  best  of  women,  Mr. 
Mathews.'  Mathews  says  the  Duke's  emotion  brought  tears 
into  his  own  eyes.  But  he  must  surely  have  thought,  even 
though  he  could  not  ask  the  question — '  Why  then  did  you 
abandon  her  ? ' 


I  ■  ■ 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS) 

Some  wit  once  remarked  that  the  '  Lives '  of  the  players  were 
the  only  ones  worth  reading,  because,  seeing  that  actors  and 
actresses  were  not  expected  to  be  respectable,  their  bio- 
graphers did  not  mind  telling  the  Avhole  truth  about  them. 
But  a  player  who  had  become  a  Duchess  was,  of  course,  on 
another  footing  altogether;  and  the  Memoirs  of  Miss 
Mellon,  afterwards  Duchess  of  St.  Albans,  by  Mrs.  Corn- 
wall Baron -Wilson,  which  first  appeared  in  two  volumes  in 
1839,  were  undertaken  with  the  avowed  object  of  clearing 
that  lady's  character  from  all  trace  of  scandal.  Unfortun- 
ately Mrs.  Baron- Wilson  too  often  asks  us  to  accept  her 
conclusions  in  place  of  setting  forth  the  evidence  on  which 
they  were  based ;  and  she  also  gives  the  impression  of  push- 
ing her  advocacy  too  far.  Anything  ever  said  by  anybody 
in  disparagement  of  Miss  Mellon,  or  Mrs.  Coutts,  or  her 
Grace  of  St.  Albans,  is  stigmatised  as  an  'unfounded 
calumny';  and  we  are  invited  to  regard  this  player  girl, 
reared  in  poverty  and  wretchedness,  who  rose  to  become  one 
of  the  wealthiest  women  of  her  time  and  an  authentic 
Duchess,  as,  from  first  to  last,  a  paragon  of  womanly  per- 
fection. It  is  evident  enough  that  certain  deductions 
require  to  be  made  from  this  estimate.  Nevertheless  it 
is  undeniable  that  the  history  of  Miss  Mellon's  career 
makes  a  striking  contrast  to  the  more  or  less  disreputable 
lives  of  the  great  majority  of  the  ladies  who  held  a  similar 
position  on  the  English  stage  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
Harriot's  mother  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  couple  of 

399 


400  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Irish  peasants  or  cottiers.  Her  education  consisted  entirely 
in  the  learning  by  heart  of  the  church  prayers,  and  of  a 
considerable  quantity  of  the  popular  traditional  poetry  of 
the  Irish  :  to  the  end  of  her  life  she  was  unable  to  write,  or 
even  read.  After  earning  her  living  for  a  short  time  as  a 
shop  girl  in  Cork,  she  developed  an  ambition  to  appear  on 
the  stage ;  but  although  she  had  the  recommendation  of 
remarkable  beauty,  her  histrionic  talent  appears  to  have 
been  so  small  that  she  had  to  be  content  with  the  position 
of  dresser,  wardrobe-keeper,  and  money-taker  in  Kena's 
company  of  strolling  players,  which  in  the  earlier  part  of 
the  second  half  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  well  known 
throughout  Ireland  and  Wales.  She  is  said  to  have  been 
reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  great  devotion,  and  to  have 
remained  extremely  pious  to  the  end  of  her  life.  She 
claimed  to  have  been  married,  on  Twelfth  Day  1777,  to  a 
Lieutenant  Mathew  Mellon,  of  the  Madras  Native  Infantry, 
who  left  her  in  London  in  the  following  March  while  he 
proceeded  to  join  his  regiment  in  India.  He  was  assumed 
to  be  the  Mr.  Mellon  who  was  reported  to  have  died  of  con- 
sumption during  his  passage  between  the  Cape  and  Madras ; 
but,  anyway,  she  never  saw  or  heard  from  him  any  more. 
She  always  maintained  that  Mathew  Mellon  was  an  assumed 
name,  and  that  her  husband  was  a  great  nobleman  in  dis- 
guise. But  she  was  unable  to  say  what  his  name  really  was ; 
and,  unfortunately,  she  could  only  assert,  without  proving, 
that  he  had  married  her.  She  was  fond  of  speaking  of  the 
'high  blood'  which  Harriot  had  in  her  veins;  but  this 
appears  to  have  been  merely  a  flight  of  the  romantic 
Irishwoman's  imagination.  A  gentleman  Avho  was  with 
her  and  Harriot  in  a  box  at  Drury  Lane  in  1814,  when 
the  latter  was  publicly  known  to  be  connected  in  some 
way  with  Coutts  the  banker,  remembered  the  mother  saying 
oracularly — '  If  my  Harriot  knew  who  she  really  was,  this 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  401 

box  would  not  be  sufficient  for  her  !  Mr.  Coutts  is  a  very 
excellent  man,  but  in  point  of  birth  he  is  not  half  good 
enough  for  Harriot.'  To  which  the  daughter,  who  had 
sense  enough  to  see  the  absurdity  of  her  mother's  claim, 
laughingly  replied — '  I  dare  say,  my  dear  mother,  I  am  a 
princess  in  disguise ;  but  I  am  so  well  disguised  that  the 
King,  my  father,  will  have  immense  trouble  to  find  me  out.' 
To  whomsoever  married,  or  whether  married  or  not,  how- 
ever, Sarah  Mellon,  as  she  then  called  herself,  gave  birth  to 
a  daughter  in  November  1777.  In  the  spring  of  the  follow- 
ing year  she  rejoined  Kena's  company,  and  four  years  later 
she  married  Thomas  Entwisle,  a  young  man  several  years  her 
junior,  who  played  in  Kena's  small  orchestra.  Her  one  aim 
throughout  life  appears  to  have  been  the  social  advancement 
of  her  only  child.  Entwisle  also  became  very  attached  to 
his  little  step-daughter ;  and  we  are  told  that  his  personal 
comfort  was  frequently  sacrificed  in  order  that  she  might 
have  such  education  as  was  compatible  with  their  strolling 
way  of  life.  Although  Mrs.  Entwisle's  temper  was  so 
explosive  that  the  child  was  sometimes  half-killed  by  her 
capricious  violence,  mother  and  daughter  always  maintained 
a  strong  affection  for  one  another ;  and  when  the  daughter 
became  a  rich  woman  both  mother  and  step-father  were 
treated  by  her  with  much  generosity.  In  the  summer  of 
1783  the  Entwisles  joined  Thomas  Bibby's  company,  and 
settled  at  Ulverstone  in  Lancashire,  where  Harriot  was  sent 
to  a  day  school.  As  a  small  child  she  could  sing  and  recite 
very  prettily,  and  dance  beautifully  ;  and  it  is  evident  that 
her  mother  and  step-father  must  have  given  her  somewhat 
better  tuition  than  usually  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  stroller's 
child ;  though  out  of  a  salary  of  £1  a  week  there  can  have 
been  little  to  spare  for  educational  purposes. 

When  ten  years  of  age  she  made  her  first  appearance  on 
the  boards  as  Little  Pickle  in  Tlie  Spoiled  Child ;  and  did  so 

2c 


402  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

well  that  manager  Bibby  presented  her  with  ten  shillings. 
After  this  he  put  her  forward  as  Priscilla  Tomboy  in  The 
Romp ;  and  for  two  years  following  she  played  similar 
characters  in  a  barn  adjoining  the  White  Hart  Hotel,  which 
then  did  duty  as  the  Ulverstone  Theatre.  In  December 
1789  she  played  Phoebe  in  As  You  Like  It\  and  immedi- 
ately after  this  first  appearance  in  a  Shakespearean  character 
Mrs.  Entwisle  demanded  that  her  daughter's  salary  should 
be  raised.  After  some  consideration  manager  Bibby  offered 
to  increase  her  weekly  stipend  to  four  shillings  and  six- 
pence; but  Mrs.  Entwisle,  who  had  more  ambitious  projects 
in  view,  was  not  satisfied  with  this  offer,  and  promptly  with- 
drew not  only  her  daughter  but  her  husband  also  from 
Bibby's  service.  After  Harriot  had  acted  in  some  of  the 
smaller  towns,  and  on  one  occasion  appeared  with  great 
success  as  Peggy  in  The  Country  Girl,  the  family  joined 
Stanton's  company,  which  was  then  conducted  on  the  shar- 
ing system.  At  first  they  lodged  with  a  shoemaker  in 
Stafford,  having  two  rooms  10  feet  by  4f  in  measurement, 
for  which  they  paid  half-a-crown  a  week.  After  a  short 
time  the  sharing  system  was  exchanged  for  regular  salaries, 
when  Harriot  received  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  and  her  step- 
father a  guinea.  This  comparative  wealth  enabled  them  to 
take  somewhat  better  lodgings ;  but  what  was  deemed  of  far 
greater  importance  by  Mrs.  Entwisle  was  that  the  manager's 
family  took  much  notice  of  Harriot ;  and  by  taking  her  out 
to  juvenile  parties  with  her  own  children,  Mrs.  Stanton 
introduced  her  to  what  her  ambitious  mother  then  considered 
high  society.  And  the  girl  really  did  make  friends  in  a  class 
far  above  her  own.  While  at  Burton- on-Trent  she  had  been 
much  noticed  by  one  of  the  principal  families  there,  and  these 
good  people  had  given  her  an  introduction  to  the  family  of 
a  Mr.  Wright,  a  banker  at  Stafford,  with  whose  family  she 
became  very  intimate,    Mr.  Wright's  daughters  not  onl}'  had 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)    403 

her  at  their  house  perpetually,  but  by  presents  of  gowns, 
gloves,  and  shoes,  and  by  the  loan  of  their  jewellery,  greatly 
contributed  to  the  appearance  she  was  able  to  make  on  the 
stage.  Through  their  interest  also  she  obtained  invitations 
to  the  parties  of  several  of  the  other  better-class  families  of 
the  place;  into  which,  it  is  worthy  of  note,  Mrs.  Entwisle 
was  careful  never  to  intrude  herself,  although  she  invariably 
attended  Harriot  to  the  doors  of  her  fine  friends,  and  called 
to  escort  her  home.  A  professional  connection  of  the  family 
remarked  of  her  at  this  period,  when  she  was  about  sixteen 
years  of  age : — 

'  Miss  Mellon  was  a  great  favourite  among  the  principal  families, 
and  with  all  the  young  people  of  both  sexes;  she  was  a  very 
steady,  prudent  girl,  remarkably  handsome,  and  always  smiling 
and  pleasant  looking.  The  mother  was  a  gay,  pretty  woman  ;  hut 
very  rough  with  her  daughter  occasionally.  Although  [!] 
Harriot's  salary  was  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  they  were  in 
straitened  circumstances,  because  her  step-father  was  disposed 
to  drinking  and  low  company.  Miss  Mellon's  situation  between 
the  two,  who  disagreed  exceedingly,  was  greatly  pitied.' 

When  a  new  theatre  was  opened  in  Stafford  in  1792  Miss 
Mellon's  salary  was  raised  to  a  guinea  a  week;  but  this 
made  little  difference  to  her  personally,  as  her  mother  took 
every  farthing  of  her  money.  When  some  friends  lent  the 
young  girl  a  pony  and  a  riding  habit,  for  example,  her 
mother  would  not  even  give  her  a  penny  to  pay  the  turn- 
pike. In  1794  Sheridan  first  saw  and  admired  her  perform- 
ance in  The  Romp  and  The  Belle's  Stratagem ;  and,  being 
pressed  by  the  Wrights,  he  promised  to  give  her  an  engage- 
ment shortly  at  Drury  Lane.  This  year  she  took  a  benefit 
which  realised  £50 ;  but  her  mother  took  the  money,  merely 
buying  her  a  dress  or  two  out  of  it,  and  letting  her  have  a 
small  sum  to  contribute  to  the  debtors'  box— a  form  of 
charity  for  which,  from  first  to  last,  Harriot  had  an  almost 
superstitious  regard. 


404  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

In  June  1795,  on  the  strength  of  Sheridan's  promise  of  an 
engagement  (which  apparently  he  had  entirely  forgotten), 
Harriot  and  the  Entwisles  came  up  to  London.     At  first 
they  took  lodgings  in  the  Strand  ;   but  as  the  theatre  did 
not   open  until   September,  and   Sheridan   kept   them  in 
uncertainty  for  the  whole  of  the  three  months,  their  means 
dwindled  and  they  were  reduced  to  take  part  of  a  house  in 
St.  George's  Fields  at  a  rental  of  £10  per  annum.     The  day 
after  their  arrival  in  London,  Harriot  took  advantage  of  her 
mother's  absence  and  ventured  out  alone  to  see  some  of  the 
wonders  of  the  great  city.     She  walked  on  and  on  until  she 
arrived  at  a  large  building,  with  pillars  and  statues  in  front 
of  it,   which   she   afterwards   discovered   to  be  the  Royal 
Exchange.     By  this  time  she  was  feeling  very  tired;  and 
when  a  kindly-looking  old  gentleman,  with  many  capes  on 
his  shoulders  and  a  bunch  of  hay  in  his  hand,  came  up  and 
inquired   if  she  would  like  a  coach,  she  jumped    at   the 
suggestion  and  requested  him  to  drive  her  '  all  over  London  ' 
before  taking  her  home.     '  La  love  ye,  miss,'  said  the  man, 
'  that  would  cost  ye  a  sight  o'  money.'     '  But  look  here,  sir,' 
said  the  young  lady  from  the  country,  confidently  producing 
her  purse,  '  I  have  a  shilling  to  pay  you.'     The  old  Jehu 
told  her  to  get  in,  though  he  could  only  take  her  about  a 
quarter  of  the  way  home  for  that  money;   but  when  he 
stopped,  and  said  he  could  go  no  further,  she  implored  '  dear 
old  Mr.  Coachman,'  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  take  her  on 
just  another  street;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  dear  old  Mr. 
Coachman  drove  her  all  the  way  home.     But  when  he  set 
her  down  he  remarked, '  This  is  a  bad  job,  and  I  shall  have 
to  take  it  out  of  another  fare.     But  don't  you  go  out  by 
y'self  never  no  more  in  Lunnon,  'cause  you  won't  find  many 
such  fools  as  me.'     This  was  probably  the  only  occasion  on 
which  she  went  out  in  London  for  several  years  to  come 
except  under  the  watchful  guardianship  of  her  judicious 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)   405 

mother.  At  length,  being  stimulated  by  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Wright,  Sheridan  sent  for  Miss  Mellon,  and  having  informed 
her  that  there  was  now  a  vacancy  for  a  young  actress  at 
Drury  Lane,  requested  her  to  give  him  a  specimen  of  her 
declamation  by  reading  the  scenes  of  Lydia  Languish  and 
Mrs.  Malaprop  from  his  play  of  The  Rivals.  As  Mrs. 
Baron- Wilson  relates : — 

'  She  felt  greatly  frightened  ;  and  answered,  with  the  naive, 
unaffected  manner  which  she  retained  through  life,  "  I  dare  not, 
sir,  for  my  life  !  I  would  rather  read  it  to  all  England.  Suppose, 
sir,  you  did  me  the  honour  of  reading  it  to  me  ? "  There  was 
something  so  unassuming  and  child-like  in  the  way  she  made  this 
daring  request,  that  the  manager  entered  into  the  oddity  of  the 
matter,  and  read  nearly  the  whole  play  to  his  delighted  young 
auditor.  She  became  so  identified  with  the  drama  that  she  forgot 
all  dread  of  the  author,  and,  on  his  request,  she  read  the  scenes  of 
Lydia  and  her  Aunt  with  so  much  spirit  that  Mr.  Sheridan 
applauded  repeatedly,  told  her  she  could  play  either  character, 
and  gave  her  an  engagement ! ' 

Her  salary  was  fixed  at  thirty  shillings  a  week;  and  on 
the  17th  of  September,  according  to  her  biographer  (though 
other  authorities  make  it  as  early  as  the  31st  of  January), 
Sheridan  brought  her  out  as  Lydia  Languish.  But,  owing 
to  nervousness,  her  first  performance  in  the  London  theatre 
was  far  inferior  to  her  rehearsal ;  and  Sheridan  judged  it 
better  for  her  to  appear  merely  in  choruses  and  such  like 
for  a  month,  until  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  house. 
For  not  only  was  this  young  girl,  fresh  from  provincial 
barns,  now  placed  in  a  company  which  included  Mrs. 
Siddons,  Mrs.  Jordan,  Mrs.  Powell,  Mrs.  Crouch,  Miss 
Farren,  Miss  Pope,  and  other  first-rate  actresses,  but  the 
mere  size  of  the  theatre  appalled  her.  The  largest  places 
she  had  previously  played  in  were  not  much  larger  than 
some  London  drawing-rooms,  whereas  the  new  Drury 
ordinarily  seated  3,600  persons,  and  could,  on  a  squeeze, 


406  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

accommodate  5000.  She  used  to  say  that,  notwithstanding 
her  unusual  height,  when  the  curtain  drew  up  and  she  saw 
the  multitude  of  faces  before  her  she  felt  herself '  a  mere 
shrimp.'  The  impression  made  by  her  first  appearance  is 
doubtless  faithfully  enough  reflected  in  the  following 
sentences  from  one  of  the  morning  papers : — 

'  The  liivah  was  performed  last  night,  with  a  new  actress  as 
Lydia  Languish.  The  lady,  whose  name  is  said  to  be  Melling,  or 
Millen,  was  greatly  agitated.  Her  appearance  is  strikingly  hand- 
some, her  voice  musical,  her  action  graceful,  when  not  checked  by 
fear;  and  there  were  some  tones  of  archness  at  times,  which 
practice  may  increase  ;  so  it  would  be  unfair  to  call  last  night 
a  failure,  though  she  did  not  succeed.' 

In  December  of  this  year  she  played  subsidiary  parts  in 
The  Spoiled  Child,  The  Country  Girl,  The  Romp,  and  Tlie 
Devil  to  Pay,  when  Mrs.  Jordan  acted  the  principal 
characters;  and  she  used  to  say  afterwards  that  her  oAvn 
performance  in  these  pieces  must  have  been  entirely 
mechanical,  for  she  was  so  enchanted  as  to  be  completely 
engrossed  by  the  delightful  acting  of  Mrs.  Jordan,  in  what 
were  four  of  that  eminent  actress's  best  characters.  In 
March  1796  Sheridan  showed  his  appreciation  of  the  advance 
she  was  making  by  selecting  her,  during  Miss  Farren's 
illness,  for  the  part  of  Berinthia  in  The  Trip  to  Scarborough ; 
and  soon  afterwards  she  was  chosen,  in  similar  circum- 
stances, to  replace  Mrs.  Jordan  as  Amanthis  in  The  Child  of 
Nature.  One  of  the  performers  of  the  time  at  Drury  Lane 
thus  describes  her  style  and  appearance,  and  compares  her 
with  the  other  bright  particular  stars  of  the  stage : — 

'  Miss  Mellon  was  a  remarkably  handsome  brunette,  but  did  not 
look  a  bit  like  an  actress.  She  was  much  more  like  one  of  the 
genuine  beauties  of  a  quiet  village  two  hundred  miles  from  town. 
It  was,  I  suppose,  this  rusticity  which  made  her  for  a  long  time 
unnoticed ;  I  don't  mean  unnoticed  merely  as  an  actress,  for  with 
our  company  she  was,  of  course,  prepared  for  that ;  but  unnoticed 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)   407 

as  a  beauty.  She  had  really  more  claim  to  that  title  than  (two  or 
three  excepted)  most  actresses  of  the  day.  Miss  Farren  was  then, 
despite  the  smallpox,  the  reigning  toast;  she  was  an  elegant 
woman.  Mrs.  Jordan  was  in  her  bloom ;  she  was  a  fascinating 
one.  Mrs.  Goodall  was  delightful ;  and  Miss  de  Camp  set  half 
the  young  fellows  mad ;  nay,  Mrs.  Bland  was  voted  a  charmer  by 
many  ;  the  coarse  sigiwra  had  admirers ;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
majestic  Siddons,  to  whom  none  dared  express  admiration ;  the 
Cleopatra-looking  Mrs.  Powell,  and  that  most  graceful  and  lovely 
of  all  syrens,  Mrs.  Crouch.  These  ladies  had  each  a  style  ;  you 
could  classify  them  as  divinities  ;  but  Miss  Mellon  was  merely 
a  countrified  girl,  blooming  in  complexion,  with  a  very  tall,  fine 
figure,  raven  locks,  ivory  teeth,  a  cheek  like  a  peach,  and  coral 
lips.  All  she  put  you  in  mind  of  was  a  country  road  and  a 
pillion  ! ' 

She  is  described  as  a  good-humoured,  pleasant  creature 
in  the  theatre,  but  with  a  manner  which  quickly  repelled 
any  disagreeable  attentions — as  she  promptly  proved  to  old 
Dodd,  who  fancied  himself  an  Adonis,  and  pestered  many  of 
the  younger  actresses  with  his  frivolities.  She  was  also 
popular  with  the  management,  from  her  readiness  to  turn 
her  hand  to  anything,  and  because,  after  flaunting  it  as 
the  line  lady  of  the  piece,  in  consequence  of  the  absence  of 
some  more  important  actress,  she  would  always  return  to 
her  secondary  business  with  a  good  grace.  In  fact  the  stage 
had  seldom  seen  so  proper  and  prudent  a  young  lady. 

Miss  Mellon's  success  in  London  was  sufficient  to  secure 
her  several  profitable  provincial  engagements,  especially  in 
Liverpool,  where  the  play-going  public  always  insisted  on 
having  performers  from  London.  In  1796  she  was  engaged 
for  the  summer  season  there,  at  a  salary  of  £2  a  week  and 
half  a  clear  benefit.  And  the  engagement  was  of  more  than 
the  mere  monetary  value  to  her,  for  it  enabled  her  to  show 
herself  in  many  principal  parts,  for  which  she  had  been  only 
the  under-study  at  Drury  Lane.  During  this  season,  between 
the  22nd  of  June  and  the  1 7th  of  August,  she  represented 


408  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

no  less  than  fifty- two  characters,  and  made  by  salary  and 
benefit,  £155.  It  was  while  at  Liverpool  on  this  occasion 
that  Mrs.  Siddons  publicly  took  Miss  Mellon  under  her 
protection.  Leading  the  younger  actress  forward  by  the 
hand  one  day  in  the  green-room,  the  acknowledged  queen 
of  the  stage  addressed  the  company,  saying,  '  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  I  am  told  by  one  I  know  very  well  that  this 
young  lady  for  years  in  his  father's  company  conducted 
herself  with  the  utmost  propriety.  I  therefore  introduce 
her  as  my  young  friend.'  And  afterwards,  pitying  her  situa- 
tion in  '  that  hot-bed  of  iniquity,'  as  she  called  the  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  where  it  was  almost  impossible  for  a  young, 
pretty,  and  unprotected  female  to  escape  unscathed,  the 
great  tragedian  introduced  her  young  friend  to  the  green- 
room in  similar  terms.  Mr.  Coutts  is  said  to  have  been 
present  on  the  latter  occasion.  In  March  1796  Miss 
Mellon  and  her  parents  removed  from  the  out-of-the-way 
neighbourhood  of  St.  George's  Fields,  to  the  second  floor 
of  No.  17  Little  Russell  Street,  immediately  opposite  the 
theatre.  To  the  end  of  her  life  the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans 
was  accustomed  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  this  dirty  narrow 
street,  on  every  St.  Patrick's  Day,  in  a  plain  dress  and  with- 
out carriage  and  servants,  that  she  might  contemplate,  and 
sometimes  show  to  a  chosen  friend,  the  humble  spot  whence 
she  had  risen.  During  this  year,  in  consequence  of  the 
absence  of  Mrs.  Jordan,  Miss  Mellon  had  the  opportunity 
of  appearing  in  two  of  that  lady's  favourite  characters ;  when 
the  critics  declared  that  'she  came  very  close  in  several 
points  to  her  admirable  original.'  Miss  Farren's  retirement, 
to  become  Countess  of  Derby,  in  the  following  year,  gave  her 
further  advantages.  In  June  1797  she  again  had  an  engage- 
ment at  Liverpool,  when  her  benefit  (of  which  she  took  half) 
realised  £270.  Her  benefits  were  always  the  principal  con- 
sideration with  the  Entwisles,  who  still  had  the  lion's  share 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  409 

of  the  money.  In  after  years  she  used  to  tell  a  good  story 
of  an  amusing  but  rather  embarrassing  occurrence  in  tlie 
Liverpool  Theatre  this  summer. 

'  I  was  to  perform  in  a  new  piece,  something  like  those  pretty 
little  affecting  dramas  they  get  up  now  at  the  minor  theatres ;  and 
in  my  character  I  represented  a  poor,  friendless,  orphan  girl,  re- 
duced to  the  most  wretched  poverty.  A  heartless  tradesman 
persecutes  the  sad  heroine  for  a  heavy  debt  owing  to  him  by  her 
family,  and  insists  on  putting  her  in  prison  unless  some  one  will 
go  bail  for  her.  The  girl  replies — "Then  I  have  no  hope— I  have 
not  a  friend  in  the  world." — "What !  will  no  one  go  bail  for  you 
to  save  you  from  prison  1 "  asks  the  stern  creditor. — "  I  have  told 
you  I  have  not  a  friend  on  earth,"  was  my  reply.  But  just  as  I 
was  uttering  the  words,  my  eyes  were  attracted  by  the  movements 
of  a  sailor  in  the  upper  gallery,  who,  springing  over  the  railing, 
was  letting  himself  down  from  one  tier  to  another,  until  finally 
reaching  the  pit,  he  bounded  clear  over  the  orchestra  and  foot- 
lights, and  placed  himself  beside  me  in  a  moment,  before  I  could 
believe  the  evidence  of  my  senses.  "Yes,  you  shall  have  one  friend 
at  least,  my  poor  young  woman,"  said  he,  with  the  greatest  ex- 
pression of  feeling  in  his  honest,  sun-burnt  countenance.  "  I  will 
go  bail  for  you  to  any  amount.  And  as  for  you  "  (turning  to  the 
frightened  actor),  "if  you  don't  bear  a  hand  and  shift  your  moor- 
ings, you  lubber,  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you  when  I  come  athwart 
your  bows.' 

Of  course,  the  house  was  instantly  in  an  uproar.  Some 
laughed,  others  screamed,  the  sailor's  comrades  cheered  him 
on  from  the  gallery,  and  there  was  such  general  confusion 
that  the  curtain  had  to  be  dropped,  while  the  orchestra 
played  the  national  anthem.  Even  when  taken  behind  the 
scenes  the  gallant  sailor  was  only  pacified  after  the  manager 
had  come  forward,  under  the  pretence  of  being  an  old  friend 
of  the  distressed  girl,  and,  with  a  profusion  of  theatrical 
bank-notes,  paid  oil'  the  persecuting  creditor. 

In  March  1798  the  young  actress  made  what  was  con- 
sidered a  great  step  forward  in  her  profession  in  the  part  of 
Susan  in  Follies  of  the  Day.     It  vvas  a  favourite  part  of  Mrs. 


410  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

Jordan's;  but  Miss  Mellon's  laughing,  joyous  manner  was 
well  suited  to  the  character,  and  most  people  agreed  that 
she  Looked  it  much  better  than  her  eminent  predecessor. 
Later  on  she  was  given  the  part  of  Cowslip  in  The  Agreeable 
Surprise,  and  performed  with  considerable  success  a  char- 
acter which  eighteen  years  previousl}^  had  made  the  name 
and  fortune  of '  Becky '  Wells,  and  become  so  popular  that 
'  Cowslip '  hats  and  '  Cowslip '  gowns  were  for  a  time  all  the 
rage.  '  If  the  pretty  inmate  of  Cowslip  Hall  were  here,  it 
would  be  a  different  thing,'  said  one  of  the  papers,  '  but  as 
she  is  not,  we  have  no  objection  to  her  very  pretty  substitute.' 
At  this  time,  however,  Miss  Mellon's  salary  had  not  risen  above 
£2  a  week  in  London ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  profitable 
provincial  engagements — especially  at  Liverpool,  where  this 
year  she  realised  £240  by  a  benefit — she  and  her  mother  and 
step-father  must  have  found  some  difficulty  in  making  both 
ends  meet.  She  was  now  in  her  twenty-first  year;  and 
Gibson,  the  violinist  of  the  old  Ulverstone  Theatre,  relates 
that  when  he  saw  her  in  Liverpool  her  appearance  was  very 
striking  from  the  brilliancy  of  the  contrast  of  her  complexion, 
eyes,  and  teeth.  Her  features  he  found  to  be  little  altered ; 
and  if  he  had  closed  his  eyes,  he  said,  the  sweet  low  sound 
of  her  voice  might  have  persuaded  him  that  he  was  again 
listening  to  the  little  child  saying  her  lesson,  or  learning 
some  of  her  future  speeches.  In  January  1799,  the  illness 
of  Mrs.  Jordan  again  gave  Miss  Mellon  the  advantage  of 
playing  another  of  the  celebrated  actress's  favourite  parts ; 
and  later  in  the  year  she  gained  much  praise  for  her  fascinat- 
ing impersonation  of  Celia  in  As  You  Like  It.  In  1800,  the 
temporary  retirement  of  Mrs.  Jordan  threw  some  more  pro- 
minent parts  to  the  younger  actress's  share ;  and  during  the 
two  succeeding  years  she  continued  to  rise  steadily  in  her 
profession.  In  January  1803,  in  consequence  of  the  illness 
of  Miss  Pope,  she  played  that  lady's  part  of  Mrs.  Page  in 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  411 

The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor;  and  her  success  in  this 
attempt  seems  to  have  formed  one  of  her  most  agreeable 
recollections ;  for  she  treasured  up  the  dress  which  she  wore 
on  the  occasion,  and  even  after  she  had  become  a  Duchess 
would  sometimes  produce  it  to  show  to  her  visitors.  When, 
in  the  course  of  the  same  month,  she  played  Althea  to  Mrs. 
Jordan's  Peggy,  the  Morning  Post  remarked  that  '  Miss 
Mellon,  who  in  many  respects  most  happily  imitates  Mrs. 
Jordan,  drew,  next  after  the  latter,  the  greatest  share  of 
attention  and  applause,'  adding  that  her  manner  was  full 
of  sweetness,  simplicity,  and  refinement. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  gentleman  named  Barry, 
recently  arrived  from  the  West  Indies,  paid  his  addresses 
to  her,  and,  apparently,  engaged  her  affections.  Her  mother, 
who  was  more  ambitious,  was  greatly  incensed  at  the  pro- 
spect of  Harriot's  alliance  with  a  man  not  above  her  own 
rank,  and  did  whatever  she  could  to  thwart  the  match. 
Nevertheless,  had  Barry  confessed  that  he  was  not  a  man 
of  means,  the  romantic  actress  would  probably  have  married 
him — even  if  she  had  had  to  supply  the  means  for  their 
subsistence  afterwards.  But  he  invented  a  story  about  an 
ample  allowance,  and  a  rich  old  aunt  to  whom  he  was  heir, 
which  story  was  speedily  discovered  to  be  a  barefaced  im- 
position, and  the  young  lady  instantly  refused  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  him.  'This  circumstance,'  says 
her  biographer,  '  apparently  seared  her  heart  against  risking 
"that  fatal  dream"  again;  for  all  who  knew  her  unite  in 
saying  she  never  afterwards  showed  the  least  preference  for 
any  one  of  her  admirers.'  She  had  now  become  a  person 
of  some  importance  in  the  green-room;  and  her  benefits 
had  yielded  so  well  for  several  years  past  that  she  was  in 
possession  of  a  considerable  sum  of  money.  She  was  there- 
fore at  last  in  a  position  to  assert  her  independence;  and 
as  neither  her  mother's  temper  nor  Mr.  Eutwisle's  habits 


412  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

showed  any  signs  of  improvement,  she  estabhshed  them  in 
a  music-shop  at  Chehenham,  and  took  to  hve  with  her  in 
Little  Russell  Street  a  young  friend,  who  remained  her  con- 
stant companion  for  the  following  thirteen  years.  Harriot 
occasionally  visited  her  mother  during  the  holidays,  and 
the  latter  sometimes  came  up  to  London ;  but  the  clash  of 
tempers  might  be  endured  Avhen  it  was  only  a  temporary 
instead  of  a  constant  occurrence.  Later  on,  her  interest 
enabled  her  to  get  Mr.  Entwisle  appointed  postmaster  of 
Cheltenham — a  post  for  which  he  was  by  no  means  lit,  and 
in  which  he  did  her  no  credit.  She  also  built  a  house  for 
her  mother  in  a  suitable  part  of  Cheltenham,  for  Mrs. 
Entwisle  to  let  out  in  lodgings.  Occasionally,  when  staying 
in  the  town,  she  played  at  the  Cheltenham  Theatre ;  and  a 
benefit  which  she  took  there  in  September  1805  proved  to 
be  a  crisis  in  her  life.  All  the  visitors  to  the  place  were  of 
course  asked  to  purchase  tickets,  and  amongst  them  was  an 
elderly  invalid  gentleman,  whose  name  Mrs.  Entwisle  had 
been  unable  to  discover,  but  whose  servant  had  assured  her 
that,  notwithstanding  his  poor  appearance,  his  master  was 
considered  one  of  the  richest  men  in  London.  In  the  course 
of  a  day  or  two  this  gentleman  sent  five  guineas,  with  the 
request  that  a  box  might  be  reserved  for  Mr.  Coutts.  A  short 
note  accompanying  the  money  commended  what  the  Avriter 
had  heard  of  Miss  Mellon's  industry  in  her  profession  and 
kindness  to  her  mother,  and  Mr.  Coutts  hoped  that  his  trifling 
present  would  prove  to  be  '  luck-money.'  Harriot  was  always 
extremely  superstitious;  and  as  this  happened  to  be  the 
largest  sum  in  gold  she  had  ever  yet  received  from  any  one 
person,  and  as  the  coins  happened  to  be  new  guineas  fresh 
from  the  Mint,  she  concluded  that  it  must  indeed  be  '  luck- 
money,'  and  that  nothing  should  ever  induce  her  to  part 
with  it.  On  the  day  of  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Coutts,  ten 
years  afterwards,  those  five  bright  guineas  were  produced 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  413 

by  her  from  an  old  purse ;  and  after  the  lapse  of  another 
twelve  years  they  were  again  produced,  and  shown  to  her 
bridal  party  when  she  became  Duchess  of  St.  Albans. 

Thomas  Coutts,  sole  partner  in  the  great  banking-house  in 
the  Strand,  was  at  this  time  seventy  years  of  age.  He  was 
a  man  of  eccentric  character,  who  loved  to  go  about  shabbily 
dressed  in  order  to  be  mistaken  for  an  indigent  person,  and 
who  was  equally  remarkable  for  his  petty  economies  and 
great  charities.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  accomplish- 
ments, who  was  admitted  to  the  highest  circles  of  society,  and 
who  had  married  his  three  daughters  (notwithstanding  that 
their  mother  had  been  one  of  his  brother's  domestic  servants) 
to  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  the  Earl  of  Guilford,  and  the  Marquis 
of  Bute,  respectively.  His  wife  was  still  living,  but  as  she  was 
advanced  in  years,  as  well  as  out  of  her  mind,  there  seemed 
no  harm  in  anticipating  that  she  might  predecease  him.  It 
has  been  said  that  at  first  neither  Mrs.  Entwisle  nor  her 
daughter  had  any  notion  that  Mr.  Coutts  would  ever  marry 
the  latter,  but  that  they  merely  sought  to  take  all  the 
advantage  they  could  of  a  weak  and  rich  old  man's  patron- 
age as  long  as  it  would  last.  From  this  opinion  Harriot's 
biographer  emphatically  dissents,  holding  that  from  the 
moment  of  introduction  Mrs.  Entwisle  had  marked  the  rich 
old  banker  for  her  daughter's  husband.  At  any  rate  the 
acquaintance  seems  to  have  been  assiduously  cultivated; 
and  on  his  return  to  London  Mr.  Coutts  presented  Miss 
Mellon  to  his  three  daughters,  with  whom  she  appears 
within  a  very  short  time  to  have  become  extremely  intimate. 
They  used  to  meet  their  father  at  her  house  in  Little 
Russell  Street,  or  call  there  to  drive  him  home ;  and  they 
invited  Harriot  to  their  houses,  both  in  London  and  in  the 
country.  Mrs.  Entwisle,  who  was  ambitious,  clever,  artful, 
and  scheming,  appears  to  have  come  up  to  London  to  direct 
the  campaign  in  person.     Mrs.  Baron- Wilson  says : — 


414  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  Miss  Mellon's  manner  towards  Mr.  Coutts,  which  was  totally 
different  from  her  careless  style,  was  doubtless  the  result  of  her 
mother's  tutorage,  and  certainly  was  politic  in  the  extreme.  It 
was  steady  and  respectful,  like  a  daughter,  perfectly  free  from  any 
levity  .  .  .  and,  to  prove  her  respect,  no  office  was  too  humble ; 
for  instance,  she  never  allowed  a  servant  to  open  the  door  when  he 
knocked,  but  either  went  down  herself,  or  requested  the  young 
lady  living  with  her  to  do  so.  From  her  steady  demeanour  she 
was  generally  considered  by  her  friends  to  be  an  acknowledged 
daughter  of  Mr.  Coutts,  and,  from  the  friendship  shown  to  her  by 
his  daughters,  they  had  possibly  formed  a  similar  conclusion.' 

At  any  rate  it  is  clear,  from  their  conduct  afterwards,  that 
they  never  thought  their  father  ever  intended  to  marry  her. 
Harriot's  biographer  says  that  Coutts  was  exactly  the 
sort  of  person,  and  in  exactly  the  position,  to  fall  in  with 
shrewd  Mrs.  Entwisle's  schemes.  He  had  a  ereat  love  of 
witty  society,  especially  that  of  the  green-room.  The  malad}'^ 
from  which  his  wife  suffered  left  him  very  lonely.  He  was 
very  wealthy,  and  as  shrewd  in  money  matters  as  men  who 
have  made  their  own  fortune  usually  are.  But  he  was  also 
eccentric  in  various  ways ;  beneath  his  shrewdness  there  was 
a  strong  vein  of  romance ;  and  he  was  peculiarly  susceptible 
to  soft  words. 

'  It  will  be  readily  seen  what  a  chance  there  was  for  the  wheed- 
ling Irishwoman  and  her  respectful  daughter,  when  they  received  a 
visit  from  the  solitary  millionaire,  and  devoted  themselves  to 
preparing  all  the  trifling  comforts  which  servants  would  not  do  of 
themselves,  and  their  master  (engrossed  in  business)  forgot  to 
order.  In  time  he  regularly  took  his  luncheon  in  Little  Russell 
Street,  and  if  his  family  wanted  to  see  him,  they  knew  where  to  go.' 

The  following  is  given  as  a  specimen  of  Mrs.  Entwisle's 
delicate  attentions  to  Mr.  Coutts.  One  day  when  he  had 
been  complaining  of  pains  in  his  arms  and  legs,  which  made 
it  very  unpleasant  for  him  to  do  the  amount  of  walking 
which   had   been  prescribed  for  the  benefit  of  his  failing 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)    415 

health,  the  shrewd  Irishwoman  suggested  that  perhaps  his 
sleeves  and  his  stockings  were  too  tight,  begging  him  to  let 
her  have  a  specimen  of  each  that  she  might  see  whether 
some  alteration  could  not  be  made.  She  found  that  the 
millionaire  banker's  flannel  waistcoat  had  been  patched  and 
washed  so  often  that  it  had  shrunk  into  a  little  yellow,  hard 
thing,  like  a  washed  glove,  and  that  his  worsted  stockings 
had  been  darned  in  lumps  over  and  over  again,  so  that 
walking  in  them  must  have  been  a  sort  of  purgatory.  She 
very  soon  produced  a  dozen  new  waistcoats  and  pairs  of 
stockings,  with  which  the  old  gentleman  was  so  pleased  that 
he  would  talk  of  this  kind  addition  to  his  comfort  as  though 
he  were  a  poor,  broken-down  old  clerk  to  whom  a  few  good 
waistcoats  and  stockings  were  an  unaftbrdable  luxury. 

The  marked  friendship  of  the  Coutts  family  for  Miss 
Mellon  was  not  likely  to  pass  without  comment ;  and  it  was 
currently  reported  that  an  engagement,  similar  to  that  of 
Lord  Derby  with  Miss  Farren,  had  been  entered  into,  by 
which,  after  the  death  of  the  afflicted  Mrs.  Coutts,  Miss 
Mellon  was  destined  to  take  her  place.  A  well  known  legal 
gentleman  assured  Harriot's  biographer  that  he  knew  of  the 
existence  of  a  bond  between  Mr.  Coutts  and  Miss  Mellon  to 
the  effect  that  if  she  would  remain  unmarried  while  his 
invalid  wife  survived,  he  would  marry  her  as  soon  as  his 
hand  was  free  to  offer.  There  has  never  been  positive  proof 
of  the  existence  of  any  such  bond  ;  but  a  consideration  of  all 
the  circumstances  leaves  little  room  for  doubt  that  some 
such  arrangement  there  must  have  been.  Some  of  the 
comments  on  the  matter,  both  of  her  professional  friends 
and  of  the  public  press,  were  none  too  complimentary.  Mrs. 
Baron-Wilson  claims  to  have  placed  in  its  true  light  Miss 
Mellon's  friendship  for,  and  subsequent  marriage  to,  Mr. 
Coutts ;  but  in  point  of  fact  she  has  left  the  matter  very 
much   as   she   found  it.     The   sum   and   substance  of  her 


416  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  vindication'  is  (1)  that  Coutts  was  so  scrupulous  about  the 
reputation  of  his  future  wife  that,  in  addition  to  introduc- 
ing his  friends  to  her  house,  he  never  allowed  her  to  be 
without  a  female  companion,  'a  lady  of  good  connections 
and  irreproachable  conduct,'  who  permanentl}^  resided  with 
her;  (2)  that  Miss  Mellon  always  behaved  to  Mr.  Coutts 
with  such  deference  and  sobriety  of  manner  as  to  create  an 
impression  that  she  was  his  daughter ;  and  (3)  that  Coutts 
encouraged  this  supposition  in  order  to  save  his  family  from 
pain,  and  Miss  Mellon  from  the  awkwardness  of  being 
recognised  as  the  future  successor  of  Mrs.  Coutts  the  first. 
The  truth  seems  to  be  that  Mrs.  Baron-Wilson  knew  no 
more  of  the  precise  circumstances  of  the  case  than  any  of 
the  slanderous  scribblers  whom  she  condemns ;  and  whether 
Coutts,  during  the  lifetime  of  his  first  wife,  treated  Miss 
Mellon  as  his  mistress  or  his  daughter  is  a  matter  on  which, 
in  the  absence  of  any  positive  evidence,  people  will  continue 
to  arrive  at  different  conclusions  according  to  their  several 
ways  of  thinking.  Mrs.  Wilson's  logic  is  sometimes  rather 
difficult  to  follow.  We  are  apparently  invited  to  conclude, 
for  example,  that  because  on  one  occasion  the  audience  in 
the  theatre  and  certain  writers  in  the  newspapers  mistook  a 
paste  necklace  which  Miss  Mellon  had  bought  with  her  OAvn 
money  for  a  valuable  diamond  ornament  which  must  have 
been  given  her  by  Mr.  Coutts,  therefore  Mr.  Coutts  never 
gave  her  any  such  valuable  presents.  The  stor}^  about  this 
necklace  is  as  follows.  It  had  been  made  for  Miss  Mellon 
(as  she  herself  declared)  by  a  jeweller  who  was  good  enough 
to  allow  her  to  pay  the  six  guineas  which  he  charged  for  it 
by  instalments  of  five  shillings  a  week.  She  first  sported 
this  sparkling  ornament  when  playing  Lydia  Languish  in 
The  Rivals  ;  and  when,  after  the  end  of  one  of  the  acts,  she 
went  into  the  box  where  Mr.  Coutts  was  sitting  with  some 
of  his  grandchildren,  they  all  laughed  at  so  palpable  an 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  417 

imitation,  and  inquired — '  How  much  Avere  your  glass  beads 
a  pound  ? '  But  the  jeweller  who  had  made  the  necklace, 
while  sitting  in  the  pit,  admiring  his  own  workmanship  and 
thinking  it  '  looked  very  well  considering,'  overheard  such 
remarks  as — '  Miss  Mellon  in  a  diamond  necklace ! — a 
creature  with  three  or  four  pounds  a  week  only — it 's  quite 
shameful ! '  To  which  another  scandalised  pitite  replied — 
'  That  monied  old  banker  would  give  her  anything  :  Why,  it 
must  have  cost  him  £10,000.'  And  when  she  was  subse- 
quently observed  in  the  box  with  Coutts  and  his  family,  their 
indignation  became  uncontrollable — 'that  she  should  pre- 
sume to  appear  among  the  family  in  the  diamonds  of  which 
she  had  defrauded  them,  was  really  carrying  daring  too  far ! ' 
The  papers  got  hold  of  the  story,  and  contained  paragraphs 
about  a  certain  opulent  old  banker,  and  a  certain  actress, 
and  a  certain  necklace.  All  this  caused  her  to  take  a  dis- 
like to  the  bauble ;  and  one  day  in  the  green-room  she  took 
it  off",  and  clasping  it  round  the  neck  of  Miss  Tidswell  just 
as  she  was  going  on  the  stage,  made  that  lady  a  present  of 
the  obnoxious  thing.  Miss  Tidswell  was  very  pleased  with 
this  addition  to  her  stock  of  stage  jewels  ;  but  next  week 
the  newspapers  attacked  her  also,  sarcastically  remarking 
that  '  diamond  necklaces  are  now  the  only  wear  on  Drury 
Lane  stage  ;  another  actress  having  appeared  in  one  of  great 
beauty,  which  a  noble  Duke  had  presented  to  her.'  Not 
long  after  this  little  episode,  Miss  Mellon  sent  a  donation 
of  £100  to  the  Drury  Lane  Fund,  and  a  similar  amount  to 
that  of  Covent  Garden.  Her  ability  to  show  such  liberality 
was  accounted  for  by  the  announcement  that  a  lottery  ticket 
which  had  been  bought  for  her  by  the  actor  Wewitzer  had 
drawn  a  prize  of  £5000.  But  people  were  again  incredulous; 
and  notwithstanding  Wewitzer's  particularisation  of  the 
number  of  the  ticket  and  the  office  at  which  he  had  bought 
it,  many,  both  among  performers  and  the  pubhc,  beheved  the 

2d 


418  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

money  to  have  come  from  Mr.  Coutts.  The  truth  is,  says 
her  biographer  (not  very  consistently,  by  the  way,  with  the 
story  about  paying  for  the  six- guinea  necklace  by  instal- 
ments of  five  shillings  a  week),  '  Whether  she  was  assisted 
by  Mr.  Coutts  or  not,  she  must  by  this  time  have  been  com- 
paratively rich ;  for  independent  of  her  luck  in  the  lottery, 
she  had  accumulated  nearly  £3000  by  her  provincial  engage- 
ments, particularly  those  fulfilled  at  Liverpool,  and  was 
enabled  not  only  to  purchase  the  house  in  Little  Russell 
Street,  but  also  her  more  favourite  Holly  Lodge.'  Whatever 
agreement  there  may  have  been,  however,  between  Harriot 
and  Mr.  Coutts,  and  whatever  assistance  she  may  have 
received  from  him,  her  mother  was  evidently  kept  in 
ignorance  of  any  such  transaction,  for  that  irascible  lady 
seems  to  have  lived  in  perpetual  fear  that  her  daughter 
would  be  inveigled  into  an  imprudent  match  with  somebody 
else ;  and  she  would  frequently  come  up  to  London  to 
expostulate  whenever  anything  aroused  her  suspicions.  One 
of  the  visitors  introduced  to  the  house  in  Little  Russell 
Street  by  Mr.  Coutts  was  Colonel  Raguet,  a  Belgian  officer, 
of  good  family  and  fortune,  who  was  on  a  visit  to  this 
country.  When  Mrs.  Entwisle  heard  reports  of  Harriot's 
partiality  for  this  gentleman,  she  was  furious.  She  rushed 
up  to  London  by  a  night  journey  from  Cheltenham,  and, 
bursting  into  her  daughter's  room  just  after  breakfast  time, 
screamed  out — '  That  starving  black  fellow  !  I  '11  be  the 
death  of  him ! '  At  first  Harriot  was  unable  to  imagine  the 
reason  for  her  mother's  excitement,  little  thinking  it  could 
be  caused  by  Colonel  Raguet,  with  whom  she  was  not  on 
terms  of  any  extraordinary  friendship,  and  who  happened 
to  be,  moreover,  neither  starving  nor  black,  but  a  very  well- 
to-do,  fair,  light-haired  person.  But  the  irate  Irishwoman 
soon  grew  more  explicit,  though  not  a  whit  less  furious, 
exclaiming — '  He   shan't  marry  you,  Harriot — I  '11  kill  him 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  419 

first !  His  very  name  proves  he 's  a  beggar.  Mr.  Raggy, 
indeed !  Just  think  of  your  being  called  Mrs.  Raggy ! — a 
nasty,  black,  deceiving,  fortune-hunting,  foreign  fellow ! 
If  you  marry  him,  I  '11  be  the  death  of  both  of  you.'  There 
was  not  the  slightest  fear.  Harriot  seems  to  have  known 
well  enough  what  she  was  about.  And  even  had  there  been 
no  alliance  with  Mr.  Coutts  in  prospect,  it  is  very  doubtful, 
in  view  of  Harriot's  British  prejudice  as  expressed  in  her 
last  will  and  testament,  whether  she  could  ever  have  brought 
herself  to  marry  a  foreigner,  however  fair  both  his  face  and 
his  fortune  might  have  been. 

On  the  4th  of  January  1815,  the  first  Mrs.  Coutts  died, 
and  about  a  fortnight  later,  apparently,  the  old  banker  and 
Miss  Mellon  were  privately  married  at  St.  Pancras  Church, 
although  the  marriage  was  not  announced  until  the  2nd 
of  March.  '  One  of  the  most  wicked  of  the  falsehoods '  told 
against  Miss  Mellon,  says  her  biographer,  was  the  statement 
that  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Coutts  within  a  few  days  after 
his  wife's  death,  a  statement  '  as  false  as  it  was  revolting.' 
But  by  what  subtle  casuistry  that  which  within  a  few  days 
would  have  been  revolting  can  be  shown  to  have  become 
fit  and  proper  within  a  fortnight,  Mrs.  Baron-Wilson  unfor- 
tunately does  not  condescend  to  inform  us.  On  the  7th  of 
February  the  actress  made  her  final  bow  to  an  audience, 
although  she  apparently  incurred  a  forfeit  of  £1000  for  not 
completing  her  engagement.  On  that  evening  she  appeared 
as  Audrey  in  As  You  Like  It,  in  a  fanciful  and  pretty  dress, 
consisting  of  '  a  peculiar-shaped  black  velvet  hat,  a  yellow 
jacket  laced  with  black  velvet,  and  a  gold  cross  and  heart 
on  her  throat;  while  the  striped,  full,  and  rather  short 
petticoat  revealed  very  neat  feet  and  ankles,  in  little 
buckled  shoes,  and  yellow  silk  stockings  with  black  clocks.' 
She  was  generally  considered  the  handsomest  Audrey  on 
the  stage,  and  on  this  occasion  received  so  much  applause, 


420  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

that  when  the  early  scenes  were  over  she  went  into  Mr. 
Coutts'sjbox,  flushed  with  success,  and  expecting  further 
compliments.     She  was  therefore  rather  surprised  and  dis- 
appointed when  he  took  her  by  the  hand  and  said  that  he 
hoped  this  would  be  her  last  appearance,  as  he  could  not 
bear  to  see  her  made  up  for  the  stage  in  such  an  absurd 
costume.     There   was   no   formal   leave-taking.     After   her 
tinal   scene,   she   stepped   rather  in  advance  of  the  other 
performers,  and  curtsied  profoundly  several  times   to   the 
applauding  audience,  whispering  to  the  astonished  Touch- 
stone, as  she  did  so,  that  she  should  never  be  his  Audrey 
again.     Her  sudden  retirement,  says  her  biographer,  was  in 
all  probability  due  to  those  'smart  little  yelloAv  stockings 
with  black  clocks.'     For  a  short  time,  notwithstanding  the 
infirm  state  of  Coutts's  health,  they  continued  to  live  apart 
as  usual.     But  about  a  month  afterwards,  when  she  made 
her  daily  call,  one  of  the  physicians  gravely  announced  that 
Mr.  Coutts  was  much  worse,  whereupon,  in  her  alarm,  she 
clasped  her  hands  and  exclaimed :  '  Good  heavens !  tell  me 
all.     I  am  his  wife ! '      The  secret  being  now  out,  it  was 
arranged  that  she  should  at  once  take  her  proper  place  in 
his  home;  and  on  the  2nd  of  March  their  marriage  was 
duly  announced  in  The  Times.     The  age  of  the  bridegroom 
was  eighty,  that  of  the  bride  thirty-eight.     Coutts's  family 
appear  to  have  been  filled  with  indignation  and  dismay; 
but  some  of  them  evidently  soon  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  they  must  accept  the  inevitable,  for  on  the  first  avail- 
able occasion  Mrs.  Coutts  was  duly  presented  at  Court  by 
her  step-daughter,  the  Countess  of  Guilford.     At  first  her 
position  must  have  been  as  much  that  of  a  nurse  as  of  a 
wife ;  for  Coutts's  health  was  in  so  precarious  a  condition 
that  it  was  considered  necessary  for  him  to  have  a  resident 
medical  attendant.     The  prudent  Mrs.  Coutts  insisted  on 
the  engagement  of  a  married  doctor  of  middle  age,  in  order 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  421 

to  give,  as  she  thought,  no  scope  for  scandal.  But,  unfor- 
tunately, the  middle-aged  doctor's  wife  became  jealous,  and 
made  a  disturbance  which  caused  her  husband  to  lose  his 
appointment.  They  were  equally  unlucky,  in  another  way, 
with  their  second  resident  medical  attendant;  for,  having 
to  be  superseded  on  account  of  his  own  ill-health,  this  poor 
man  commited  suicide.  However,  before  long,  Coutts,  under 
her  care,  regained  his  usual  state  of  health  and  strength ; 
and  for  the  last  seven  years  of  his  life  seems  to  have  been 
perfectly  content  with  his  matrimonial  bargain.  Mrs. 
Entwisle  lived  just  long  enough  to  have  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  her  daughter  the  acknowledged  wife  of  the  rich  old 
banker ;  but  some  four  months  after  Harriot's  marriage  she 
died,  and  was  buried  with  great  splendour  at  Cheltenham. 
Entwisle,  whom  much  ale  had  made  corpulent  and  seden- 
tary, was  very  fond  of  fishing,  and  when  he  was  left  alone 
his  step-daughter  proposed  to  settle  £500  a  year  on  him, 
and  establish  him  in  a  pretty  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames.  But  he  declined  both  the  cottage  and  the  annuity, 
preferring  the  society  of  his  old  cronies  at  Cheltenham,  and 
judging,  truly  enough,  that  whenever  he  wanted  money  he 
should  only  have  to  apply  to  Mrs.  Coutts  for  as  much  as  he 
required.  He  survived  his  wife  four  years,  dying  in  1819, 
and  being  buried  with  her  at  Cheltenham. 

Both  Mr.  Coutts  and  his  wife  had  always  been  famous  for 
their  hospitality,  and  when  Holly  Lodge,  which  was  her 
favourite  residence,  had  been  enlarged  and  beautified,  she 
had  more  scope  for  the  rather  theatrical  display  of  her 
entertainments.  Her  visitors  were  of  very  various  kinds. 
One  day  she  would  have  four  royal  brothers — the  Dukes  of 
York,  Clarence,  Kent,  and  Sussex — to  dinner;  the  next, 
perhaps,  a  small  crowd  of  the  children  of  her  old  theatrical 
friends.  So  long  as  her  step-father  lived,  he  was  made 
welcome,  in  spite  of  his  peculiar  habits,  which  were  particu- 


422  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

larly  distasteful  to  Mr.  Coutts.  And  once,  years  after  his 
death,  when  his  brother  and  two  sisters  were  on  a  visit  to 
London,  Mrs.  Coutts  had  them  out  to  stay  for  a  month  with 
her  at  Holly  Lodge,  notwithstanding  that  the  Countess  of 
Guilford  and  her  daughters  were  then  in  the  house,  and 
that  the  portly  Misses  Entwisle  were  the  sort  of  women 
who  habitually  smoked  short  clay  pipes.  To  Mr.  Coutts, 
perhaps,  these  latter  visitors  may  not  have  been  altogether 
unwelcome,  for  he  had  a  passion  for  the  society  of  eccentrics, 
and  in  his  estimation  to  be  odd  was  almost  equivalent  to 
being  agreeable.  The  humorous  and  fantastic  painter,  Fuseli, 
was  one  of  his  favourite  guests ;  and  another  (who,  however, 
seems  to  have  had  nothing  but  a  Baron  Munchausen-like 
faculty  for  lying  to  recommend  him),  was  a  certain  Doctor 
Ruddiman.  There  was  great  jealousy  between  these  two 
eccentrics,  Ruddiman  never  missing  an  opportunity  of 
throAving  ridicule  on  Fuseli's  uncouth  speech  and  manners, 
while  the  latter  was  always  on  the  watch  to  detect  the 
romancing  doctor  in  a  palpable  invention.  The  following 
is  a  specimen  of  the  kind  of  story  Ruddiman  would  tell  with 
the  greatest  gravity  and  circumstantiality.  One  day  at 
dinner  Mr.  Coutts  was  boasting  of  a  rick  of  hay  which  had 
been  made  entirely  from  the  lawn  of  Holly  Lodge.  Dr. 
Ruddiman  thereupon  expressed  a  hope  that  it  might  not 
encounter  the  fate  of  a  hay-rick  he  knew  of,  which  had 
likewise  been  made  from  the  grass  of  a  lawn.  Fuseli, 
anticipating  the  kind  of  thing  that  was  coming,  began  to 
snort  vigorously,  but  Mr.  Coutts  motioned  to  the  veracious 
doctor  to  proceed,  and  he  related  the  following  curious 
experience  : 

'  I  was  visiting  one  day,  at  the  luncheon  hour,  a  family  who 
had  a  most  beautiful  villa,  with  long  French  windows  opening  on 
a  lawn,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  river.  Close  by  the  bank 
of  the  stream  was  a  stack  of  hay,  which  had  been  made  there 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  423 

some  time  before;  and  I  chanced  to  be  looking  at  it  when, 
suddenly,  I  doubted  the  evidence  of  my  senses,  for  I  thought  it 
moved  !  I  looked  again,  and  was  convinced — the  hay-stack  was 
actually  receding  gi-adually  away  from  the  river  side.  Unable  to 
speak,  I  pointed  it  out  to  the  assembled  party  at  the  table ;  and 
their  consternation  equalled  my  own.  We  watched  the  movement 
of  the  hay-stack  as  it  slowly  and  majestically  glided  along,  until 
it  had  advanced  twice  its  own  breadth;  after  which  there  were 
several  oscillations,  as  if  it  were  settling  comfortably  in  its  new 
situation,  and  at  last  it  was  completely  motionless.  The  master 
of  the  house,  a  person  of  great  courage,  now  came  to  the  determi- 
nation that  there  must  be  thieves  within  it  ...  so  he  sallied 
forth  with  a  long  rusty  rapier,  and  stabbing  the  hay-riek  in 
every  direction,  gave  orders  for  its  immediate  demolition.  The 
gardeners  obeyed,  though  with  great  caution ;  and  when  they 
took  to  pieces  the  lower  layer,  what  do  you  thing  we  saw? 
Hundreds,  thousands,  millions,  of  field  mice,  who  scampered  off  to 
the  former  station  of  the  hay-rick,  and  were  quickly  underground 
past  our  reach.  On  examining  the  upper  part  of  this  colony,  the 
hay  proved  to  be  very  damp  and  mildewed,  so  these  sagacious 
little  creatures  had  discovered  their  shelter  was  too  near  the  water, 
and  having  unanimously  agreed  to  work  all  together,  had  actually 
moved  away  the  friendly  rick  to  a  dry  spot ! ' 

'  Uh ! '    ejaculated    Fiiseli.      '  Dit   onny  pody    effere    hear 

suclie  a  tomd ,'  when  he  was  interrupted  by  Mr.  Coutts, 

from  whose  eyes  tears  were  falling  thick  and  fast  with 
excessive  laughter  at  this  moving  tale.  When  staying  at 
Brighton,  a  place  of  which  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Coutts  were 
very  fond,  they  gave  large  dinner-parties  at  their  hotel  on 
the  New  Steyne  every  day.  It  might  have  been  expected 
that  Mrs.  Baron-Wilson,  who  represents  her  heroine  as  a 
bright  and  witty  conversationist,  would  have  given  us  a 
specimen  or  two  of  the  brilliant  talk  that  took  place  at 
these  festive  gatherings.  But  the  only  hon  mot  in  the 
whole  of  her  two  volumes  is  the  pun  attributed  to  Mrs. 
Coutts  in  the  following  story.  When  Lord  Erskine  came 
to  Brighton  he  said  to  Mrs.  Coutts  that  if  she  would  give 


424  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

him  a  dinner,  he  would  provide  the  fish  from  his  own  ponds. 
She  agreed,  and  his  present  proved  to  be  an  enormous  pike, 
weighing  between  thirty  and  forty  pounds,  which  looked  so 
hideous  when  placed  on  the  table  that  not  one  of  the  guests 
would  venture  to  taste  it.  Not  wishing  to  pay  Lord  Erskine 
the  bad  compliment  of  sending  his  fish  away  as  uneatable, 
she  said  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  that  this  splendid  fish 
had  merely  been  served  up  for  the  company  to  look  at,  the 
eating  of  it  being  a  treat  in  store  for  a  number  of  bathing 
women  and  their  husbands,  who  were  that  eveninsf  sroiner  to 
the  play  at  her  expense.  To  make  her  word  good,  she  had 
twenty  or  thirty  of  these  people  hastily  summoned,  and 
after  they  had  demolished  the  fish  and  other  edibles  in  the 
kitchen  below,  they  were  duly  packed  off  to  the  theatre. 
The  Coutts  party  also  went  to  the  theatre ;  and  as  soon  as 
they  entered  their  box,  a  party  of  fisher-folk  in  the  pit  were 
observed  bowing  and  curtsying  towards  them.  '  I  suppose, 
Mrs.  Coutts,'  remarked  Lord  Erskine,  '  those  are  your 
ragged  staff.'  '  Indeed  they  are  not,'  was  the  reply,  '  they 
are  my  jpike  staff! ' 

Mrs.  Coutts  was  extremely  superstitious.  The  marble  steps 
leading  from  the  lawn  to  the  hall  door  of  Holly  Lodge  were 
disfigured  by  two  old,  rusty  broken  horse-shoes,  which  she  had 
picked  up  in  the  road.  She  obliged  her  guests  to  eat  mince- 
pies  on  New  Year's  Day,  and  tansy-pudding  at  Easter ;  to 
wear  hawthorn  on  May  Day,  and  holly  at  Christmas.  She 
was  strictly  observant  of  fortunate  days,  birth-days,  wedding- 
days,  and  all  the  old  festivals  of  the  calendar.  Nothing 
would  ever  induce  her  to  sit  down  thirteen  at  table ;  and 
after  eating  an  egg  she  would  always  make  a  hole  at  the 
bottom  end  of  the  shell,  so  that  witches  might  not  find 
shelter  there.  As  her  biographer  puts  it,  '  her  fanciful  mind 
delighted  in  tracing  an  omen,  a  warning,  a  sort  of  aerial 
agency,  in  matters  of  ordinary  occurrence;   dreams  were 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  425 

cited  as  demanding  credence;  supernatural  agency  was  but 
partially  doubted ;  and  an  evil  prognostic  ensured  the  re- 
linquishment of  any  expedition.'  There  were  two  of  her 
dreams  which  she  used  frequently  to  cite  as  having  been 
unmistakably  fulfilled.  The  first  of  these  was  a  dream  of 
peculiar  vividness,  which  haunted  her  for  a  long  time,  and 
in  which  she  appeared  to  have  been  tried  for  her  life,  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged,  and  actually  executed.  One  day,  while 
the  theatrical  coiffeur,  Anderson,  was  preparing  her  for  the 
stage,  she  happened  to  mention  the  recurrence  of  this  un- 
pleasant dream.  But  Anderson,  who  was  considered  an 
authority  on  such  matters,  at  once  declared  it  to  be  a  fine 
dream,  indicating  that  she  would  become  a  great  lady,  and 
perhaps  even  be  presented  at  Court.  There  seemed  little 
prospect  of  any  such  destiny  at  the  time  for  an  ordinary 
actress  earning  three  or  four  pounds  a  week;  but  she  at 
once  promised  the  prognosticator  that  if  ever  she  were 
presented  at  Court,  he  alone  should  dress  her  hair  for  the 
occasion.  Twenty  years  after,  when  Lady  Guilford  was 
to  present  her  after  her  marriage  with  Mr.  Coutts,  the 
dream  and  its  interpretation  occurred  to  her  mind ;  the  old 
coiffeur  was  discovered  at  Worthing;  and  nothing  would 
satisfy  her  but  that  he  should  come  up  to  London,  so  that 
her  promise  as  well  as  his  prophecy  should  be  fulfilled. 
Few  of  the  theatrical  hairdresser's  prognostications,  we  may 
presume,  turned  out  so  profitable  to  him  as  this  one;  for 
from  this  date  until  1836,  whenever  his  superstitious 
customer  attended  a  drawing-room,  he  was  fetched  up  from 
Worthing  to  dress  her  hair  for  the  occasion,  and  each  time 
was  presented  with  the  sum  of  £30.  The  other  dream  was 
likely  enough  suggested  by  the  Arabian  Nights,  or  some 
other  of  the  wild  tales  in  which  she  delighted.  She  seemed 
to  be  wandering  through  a  huge  castle  in  which  were 
numerous  chambers  containing  heaps  of  golden  coins,  and 


426  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

studded  with  diamonds,  rubies,  and  other  precious  stones. 
Fearful  of  being  discovered  among  such  treasures,  she  en- 
deavoured to  escape;  but  on  reaching  the  door  by  which 
she  had  entered  she  found  it  now  guarded  by  two  large 
chained  lions.  After  some  hesitation,  she  rushed  out 
between  these  furious  beasts,  who  both  sprang  at  her,  but 
inflicted  no  injury.  Then,  turning  to  look  back  as  she  ran, 
she  fell  into  a  river,  and  the  shock  awakened  her.  This 
vision  was  considered  of  such  importance  that  it  was  care- 
fully Avritten  out  and  sent  to  a  coach-maker  in  Drury  Lane, 
who  had  a  reputation  as  a  dream  expounder.  His  interpre- 
tation was  that  the  dream  indicated  great  temptations  lying 
before  her,  but  that  she  would  pass  through  them  all  un- 
scathed. Although  this  dream  did  not  indicate  wealth  in 
any  way,  the  coach-maker  added, — '  Never  mind  your  being 
poor  now.  Miss  Mellon ;  your  good  luck  will  some  day  bring 
you  the  means  of  keeping  a  carriage.'  To  which  Miss 
Mellon,  after  her  manner,  replied  that  if  she  ever  did  have 
a  carriage,  he  should  certainly  be  the  builder  of  it.  And, 
as  things  turned  out,  not  only  did  Miss  Mellon  give  him  the 
order  for  the  first  carriage  she  ever  possessed,  but  as  Mrs. 
Coutts  and  as  Duchess  of  St.  Albans,  would  never  have  a 
carriage  made  by  anybody  but  the  man  whom  she  dubbed 
her  '  good  oracle.'  It  may  seem  scarcely  necessary  to  com- 
ment on  this  sort  of  thing.  But  one  may  perhaps  be  per- 
mitted to  remark  that  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Coutts  who  found 
anything  very  extraordinary  in  these  dream  interpretations 
were  very  easily  satisfied.  If  the  coiffeur  had  said  that  she 
would  marry  a  Duke,  or  the  coach-maker  had  told  her  that 
she  would  have  two  husbands,  the  first  nearly  half  a  century 
older  and  the  second  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  younger 
than  herself,  then  there  might  have  been  a  case  to  bring 
before  the  Psychical  Research  Society. 

On  the  2nd  of  March  1822,  seven  years  after  their  marriage, 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  427 

Thomas  Coutts  died,  at  the  age  of  eighty-seven,  leaving  the 
whole  of  his  vast  fortune  to  his  widow.  For  a  time  her 
step-daughters  appear  to  have  held  aloof;  and  of  course  it 
was  only  natural  that  they  should  feel  aggrieved.  But  she 
treated  them  with  a  generosity  which  they  had  not  anticir 
pated,  and  harmonious  relations  were  once  more  restored. 
The  press  teemed  with  maUcious  stories  and  paragraphs 
about  the  wealthy  widow;  and  unscrupulous  literary  hacks 
put  together  fictitious  and  scandalous  biographies  of  her, 
with  the  view  of  extorting  money.  A  clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England  had  the  impudence  to  call  on  her  and 
ask  £100  for  the  copyright  of  such  a  concoction.  One  day  a 
well-dressed  man  obtained  an  interview  with  her  on  another 
pretence,  and  then  produced  the  MS.  of  a  similar  '  Life '  of 
herself,  which  he  offered  to  suppress  in  exchange  for  a  certain 
stipulated  sum.  As  he  denied  being  the  author  of  the 
libellous  work,  she  asked  him  what  part  he  took  in  the  affair. 
'  That  of  a  principal,'  was  the  reply.  '  Then,  sir,'  rejoined 
the  indignant  lady,  '  you  may  remember  I  am  a  principal, 
too,'  and  throwing  the  MS.  into  the  fire  she  held  it  there 
with  a  poker  until  it  was  consumed.  Failing  to  extort 
money  in  this  fashion,  some  of  these  disreputable  litterateurs 
managed  to  get  their  scurrilous  Memoirs  published;  and 
although  none  of  them  appear  to  have  met  with  any  great 
success,  they  must  have  been  exceedingly  mortifying  both 
to  her  and  to  those  connected  with  her.  She  seems  to  have 
shown  a  most  romantic,  not  to  say  theatrical,  devotion  to 
her  husband's  memory.  To  the  end  of  her  life  his  statue 
was  the  principal  ornament  of  her  state  room,  and  his 
picture  of  her  favourite  boudoir.  The  pillow  on  which  he 
lay  when  he  died  was  always  placed  in  her  carriage  when 
she  travelled,  and  she  would  never  sleep  on  any  other.  She 
frequently  went  to  sit  and  read  in  what  had  been  his  sitting- 
room   in   the   Strand;    and   on   every   anniversary   of  her 


428  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

wedding-day  she  paid  a  visit  to  the  Bank  and  pressed  her 
lips  to  the  desk  at  which  the  late  lamented  Coutts  had  been 
accustomed  to  write.  But  she  had  no  notion  of  becoming 
a  recluse ;  and  as  soon  as  the  customary  period  of  mourning 
was  over,  she  reappeared  in  society  in  all  her  usual  high 
spirits,  and,  as  some  said,  with  even  more  than  her  usual 
ostentation.  A  handsome  and  lively  widow  of  forty-five, 
reputed  to  be  worth  about  a  million  and  a  half  of  money, 
would  not  be  likely  to  remain  long  without  offers  of  another 
partnership ;  and  we  hear  of  numerous  suitors  for  her  hand, 
including  that  amorous  and  impecunious  actor  EUiston,  and 
that  equally  amorous  and  impecunious  prince,  the  Duke  of 
York.  But  she  was  in  no  hurry  to  part  with  her  freedom  or 
her  money. 

Mrs.  Coutts  first  met  her  future  second  husband,  then 
Lord  Burford,  at  a  dinner-party  which  had  been  got  up  for 
the  purpose  of  enabling  that  shy  young  nobleman  to  pay  his 
addresses  to  a  young  lady,  a  great  heiress,  who  was  duly 
there  to  be  courted.  But  instead  of  doing  what  was  ex- 
pected of  him.  Lord  Burford  sat  beside  Mrs.  Coutts  all  the 
evening,  and  seemed  so  attracted  by  her  conversation,  that 
the  Duke,  his  father,  requested  permission  to  call  on  her  at 
Holly  Lodge.  Lord  Burford's  other  matrimonial  project  was 
soon  abandoned,  and,  being  ably  seconded  by  his  father,  he 
laid  siege  to  the  wealthy  widow,  who  was  over  twenty  years 
his  senior.  In  July  1825,  the  father  died,  and  Lord  Burford 
became  Duke  of  St.  Albans.  Some  little  time  afterwards, 
Mrs.  Coutts,  accompanied  by  the  young  Duke  and  his  sister. 
Lady  Charlotte  Beauclerk,  set  out  on  a  tour  through  Scot- 
land. As  Lockhart  remarks,  no  person  of  such  consequence 
could,  in  those  days,  have  thought  a  Scotch  progress  com- 
plete unless  it  included  a  reception  at  Abbotsford;  and  in 
his  Life  of  Scott,  he  gives  the  following  interesting  account 
of  the  lady  and  her  reception.     Scott,  it  appears,  had  visited 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  429 

her  in  London  during  Coutts's  lifetime,  and  was  very  willing 
to  do  the  honours  of  Teviotdale  in  return. 

'  But  although  she  was  considerate  enough  not  to  come  on  him 
with  all  her  retinue  (leaving  four  of  the  seven  carriages  with 
which  she  travelled  at  Edinburgh),  the  appearance  of  only  three 
coaches,  each  drawn  by  four  horses,  was  rather  trying  for  poor 
Lady  Scott.  They  contained  Mrs.  Coutts — her  future  lord  the 
Duke  of  St.  Albans — one  of  his  Grace's  sisters— a  dame  de  rom- 
pagnie  (vulgarly  styled  a  toady) — a  brace  of  physicians — for  it  had 
been  considered  that  one  doctor  might  himself  be  disabled  in  the 
course  of  an  expedition  so  adventurous— and,  besides  other  menials 
of  every  grade,  two  bed-chamber  women  for  Mrs.  Coutts's  own 
person ;  she  requiring  to  have  this  article  also  in  duplicate, 
because,  in  her  widowed  condition,  she  was  fearful  of  ghosts — and 
there  must  be  one  Abigail  for  the  service  of  the  toilette,  a  second 
to  keep  watch  by  night.  With  a  little  puzzling  and  cramming,  all 
this  train  found  accommodation ; — but  it  so  happened  that  there 
were  already  in  the  house  several  ladies,  Scotch  and  English,  of 
high  birth  and  rank,  who  felt  by  no  means  disposed  to  assist  their 
host  and  hostess  in  making  Mrs.  Coutts's  visit  agreeable  to  her. 
They  had  heard  a  great  deal,  and  they  saw  something,  of  the 
ostentation  almost  inseparable  from  wealth  so  vast  as  had  come 
into  her  keeping.  They  were  on  the  outlook  for  absurdity  and 
merriment;  and  I  need  not  observe  how  effectively  women  of 
fashion  can  contrive  to  mortify,  without  doing  or  saying  anything 
that  shall  expose  them  to  the  charge  of  actual  incivility.' 

During  dinner  Sir  Walter  could  keep  this  spirit  of  mis- 
chief in  subjection;  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  Mrs.  Coutts 
followed  the  other  ladies  to  the  drawing-room  in  no  very 
complacent  mood,  and  that  there  was  danger  of  an  explosion. 
Sir  Walter  therefore  cut  the  gentlemen's  'sederunt' 
short,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  join  the  ladies,  managed  to 
draw  aside  the  youngest,  gayest,  and  cleverest  of  them  (a 
lovely  Marchioness),  and  give  her  a  well-merited  lecture. 
He  told  her  he  knew  it  was  not  uncommon  among  the 
fine  ladies  in  London  to  accept,  and  even  hunt  after, 
invitations  to  Mrs.  Coutts's  grand  balls  and  fetes,  and  then. 


430  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

if  they  met  her  afterwards  at  another  house,  to  '  tip  the  cold 
shoulder.'  This  he  denounced  as  shabby  behaviour;  and 
then  pointed  out  that  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Coutts  was 
being  treated  in  his  house  was  not  much  better.  It  had 
been  well  enough  known  that  she  was  coming  to  stay  two 
or  three  days  at  Abbotsford,  and  those  who  did  not  wish 
to  meet  her  had  had  ample  time  to  go  away.  Conse- 
quently he  had  a  perfect  right  to  expect  those  who  remained 
to  help  him  out  with  his  visitor.  The  beautiful  young 
peeress  thanked  him  for  speaking  to  her  as  if  she  had  been 
a  daughter ;  and  in  a  very  short  time  put  matters  into  a 
different  train,  so  that  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the 
lively  widow  was  quite  at  her  ease,  rattling  away  at  comical 
anecdotes  of  her  theatrical  days ;  and  at  the  conclusion  of 
her  visit  she  departed  apparently  as  much  pleased  with  Sir 
Walter's  guests  as  she  was  with  himself.  Scott  subsequently 
noted  in  his  diary  : — 

'  Mrs.  Coutts,  with  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans  and  Lady  Charlotte 
Beauclerk,  called  to  take  leave  of  us.  When  at  Abbotsford  his 
suit  throve  but  coldly.  She  made  me,  I  believe,  her  confidant  in 
sincerity.  She  had  refused  him  twice,  and  decidedly.  He  was 
merely  on  the  footing  of  friendship.  I  urged  it  was  akin  to 
love.  She  allowed  she  might  marry  the  Duke,  only  she  had  at 
present  not  the  least  intention  that  way.  Is  this  frank  admission 
more  favourable  for  the  Duke  than  an  absolute  protestation 
against  the  possibility  of  such  a  marriage  1  I  think  not.  It  is  the 
fashion  to  attend  Mrs.  Coutts's  parties,  and  to  abuse  her.  I  have 
always  found  her  a  kind,  friendly  woman,  without  either  aSectation 
or  insolence  in  the  display  of  her  wealth,  and  most  willing  to  do 
good  if  the  means  be  shown  to  her.  She  can  be  very  entertaining, 
too,  as  she  speaks  without  scruple  of  her  stage  life.  So  much 
wealth  can  hardly  be  enjoyed  without  some  ostentation.  But 
what  then  1  If  the  Duke  marries  her,  he  ensures  an  immense 
fortune ;  if  she  marries  him,  she  has  the  first  rank. .  .  .  The  disparity 
of  ages  concerns  no  one  but  themselves ;  so  they  have  my  consent 
to  marry  if  they  can  get  each  other's.  Just  as  this  is  written, 
enter  my  Lord  of  St.  Albans  and  Lady  Charlotte,  to  beg  I  would 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  431 

recommend  a  book  of  sermons  to  Mrs.  Coutts.  Much  obliged  for 
her  good  opinion  :  recommended  Logan's — one  poet  should  always 
speak  for  another.  The  mission,  I  suppose,  was  a  little  display  on 
the  part  of  good  Mrs.  Coutts  of  authority  over  her  high  aristo- 
cratic suitor.  I  do  not  suspect  her  of  turning  cUvote,  and  retract 
my  consent  given  as  above  unless  she  remains  "lively,  brisk,  and 

jolly.'" 

Sir  Walter  apparently  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Coutts, 
like  her  mother,  had  been  extremely  pious  from  her  youth 
up, — a  characteristic,  by  the  way,  of  both  her  husbands 
likewise.  Her  biographer  assures  us  that  the  minute-book 
of  prayers  and  meditations  of  Queen  Catherine  Parr  was 
always  carried  about  her  person.  And  the  importance 
which  she  attached  to  a  strict  observance  of  her  daily 
private  devotions  is  illustrated  by  the  following  incident. 
When  she  was  to  take  her  place  for  the  first  time  in  the 
peeresses'  gallery  at  the  opening  of  Parliament,  she  remem- 
bered just  as  she  was  about  to  step  into  her  carriage  that  in 
the  hurry  of  preparation  for  this  important  event  her  usual 
daily  devotions  had  been  forgotten.  The  carriage  was 
instantly  dismissed ;  and  instead  of  attending  the  ceremony 
which  she  had  looked  forward  to  with  so  much  eagerness, 
she  retired  to  her  own  room  for  the  rest  of  the  morning, 
fearful  that  otherwise  some  misfortune  would  follow  from 
what  she  regarded  as  a  case  of  culpable  negligence. 

Mrs.  Coutts's  answer  to  the  Duke's  proposal  of  marriage 
had  apparently  been  that  if  a  young  man,  just  come  into  his 
title,  were  to  marry  so  precipitately  he  might  very  likely 
regret  it  afterwards ;  but  if  he  were  of  the  same  mind  at  the 
end  of  a  year  from  that  date,  she  might  then  be  induced  to 
accept  him.  During  that  year  they  were  much  together; 
and  she  used  to  say  she  became  exceedingly  attached  to  her 
handsome  young  Duke,  and  quite  vexed  when  people  talked 
of  the  possibility  of  his  marrying  any  other  person.     At  the 


432  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

end  of  the  specified  time  the  Duke  renewed  his  offer ;  and 
they  were  married,  by  special  licence,  on  the  16th  of  June 
1827,  in  her  house  in  Stratton  Street.  We  are  told  that 
the  young  Duke  cannot  have  married  Mrs.  Coutts  for  her 
money — as  of  course  it  was  reported  that  he  did — -because 
he  declined  having  any  settlement  made  on  himself,  either 
during  her  lifetime  or  to  take  effect  after  her  death.  At 
her  death,  as  will  be  seen,  he  was  left  only  a  comparatively 
moderate  life  annuity.  But  during  her  lifetime  she  pro- 
bably treated  her  husband  as  liberally  as  though  she  were 
the  Duke  and  he  the  Duchess ;  and  we  are  told  that  her 
wedding  present  to  him  was  a  draft  for  £30,000.  Her 
elevation  to  the  peerage  seems  to  have  made  no  essential 
change  in  her  behaviour  and  habits;  and  she  was  as  free, 
after  as  before,  in  referring  to  her  lowly  origin  or  her 
theatrical  career.  '  When  I  was  a  poor  girl,  working  hard 
for  my  thirty  shillings  a  week,'  would  often  be  the  preface 
to  some  lively  story  the  Duchess  would  tell  in  her  own 
drawing-room  at  St.  Albans  House,  and  she  exhibited  a 
similar  unaffectedness  on  more  public  occasions.  In  1828, 
for  example,  when  she  and  the  Duke  returned  to  their  hotel 
after  attending  the  musical  festival  at  Liverpool,  there  was 
so  great  a  crowd  before  the  door  that  the  police  had  to 
force  a  passage  for  her.  But  when  she  saw  some  of  the 
crowd  being  rather  roughly  handled,  she  interposed,  and 
begged  that  no  force  might  be  used  on  her  account  to  any 
inhabitant  of  Liverpool,  for,  said  she,  '  most  probably  some 
of  their  family  were  kind  enough  to  'pay  for  seeing  me  at 
the  theatre  in  my  younger  days.'  During  the  later  years 
of  her  life  the  Duchess  spent  much  of  her  time  at  Brighton ; 
and  some  interesting  reminiscences  of  her  way  of  life  there 
were  communicated  by  a  literary  gentleman  who  was  much 
in  her  society.  She  was  often  glad  to  escape  from  the 
crowd  and  heat  of  her  great  entertainments,  he  says,  to  chat 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)   433 

with  him  in  a  quiet  corner  about  olden  times,  green-room 
jokes,  actors,  plays,  and  play-writers.  Few  persons,  she 
would  say,  had  seen  so  much  of  the  two  extremes  of  life  as 
herself;  and  in  contrasting  high  Ufe  with  low  she  by  no 
means  gave  an  unqualified  preference  to  the  former. 

'  The  society  in  which  I  formerly  moved  was  all  cheerfulness, 
all  high  spirits — all  fun,  frolic,  and  vivacity ;  they  cared  for 
nothing,  thought  of  nothing,  beyond  the  pleasures  of  the  present 
hour,  and  to  those  they  gave  themselves  up  with  the  utmost 
relish.  Look  at  the  circles  in  which  I  now  move ;  can  anything 
be  more  "  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable "  than  their  whole 
course  of  life  1  Why,  we  might  as  well  be  in  the  treadmill,  as 
toiling  in  the  stupid,  monotonous  round  of  what  they  call  pleasure, 
but  which  is,  in  fact,  very  cheerless  and  heavy  work.  Pleasure, 
indeed !  when  all  merriment,  all  hilarity,  all  indulgence  of  our 
natural  emotions,  if  they  be  of  a  joyous  nature,  is  declared  to  be 
vulgar.  I  hate  that  horrid  word — it  is  a  perfect  scarecrow  to 
the  fashionable  world ;  but  it  never  frightens  me ;  for  I  had 
rather  be  deemed  "unfashionable"  occasionally  than  moping  and 
melancholy  at  all  times.' 

If  it  were  not  for  the  merry  and  frequent  laugh  of  dear 
old  General  Phipps,  she  declared,  her  dinner  parties  would 
have  been  more  hke  funeral  feasts.  There  appeared  to  be 
no  such  thing  as  youth  in  high  life ;  people  were  old  when 
they  first  came  out,  the  men  all  grave  and  reverend  signers, 
and  the  girls  prim  duennas,  even  in  their  teens.  They  were 
too  fine  and  fastidious  for  anything ;  but  though  this  world 
was  apparently  not  good  enough  for  them,  she  inclined  to 
the  Methodist  parson's  opinion  that  some  of  them  might  go 
further  and  fare  worse.  She  certainly  did  her  best  to 
counteract  any  such  melancholy  slowness  at  Brighton,  and 
by  her  parties,  excursions,  and  festivities  of  all  kinds  consti- 
tuted herself  a  sort  of  mistress  of  the  revels  in  the  place. 
The  most  novel  and  attractive  of  her  entertainments  are 
said  to  have  been  the  hawking-parties  she  instituted  on  the 
neighbouring  Downs. 

26 


434  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

'  Habited  in  green  velvet,  with  a  black  hat  and  feathers,  and  a 
superb  diamond  hawk  suspended  from  her  girdle,  the  Duchess, 
mth  her  carriage  and  suite  in  full  state,  started  for  the  place  of 
rendezvous.  The  Duke,  who  is  a  capital  horseman,  rode  at  her 
side,  in  the  handsome  costume  of  a  grand  falconer,  or  galloped 
forward  with  a  hawk  on  his  wrist,  attended  by  numerous  falconers 
and  servants  in  green  liveries,  and  a  numerous  bevy  of  horsemen 
eager  to  follow  all  his  movements.  After  the  luckless  heron  had 
been  thrown  up,  and  the  hawk  was  in  full  pursuit,  it  was  a  gallant 
and  striking  spectacle  to  see  a  numerous  field  of  equestrians,  of 
whom  a  great  proportion  were  females,  galloping  over  the  wide 
Downs  in  the  direction  of  the  chase,  now  lost  in  an  intervening 
hollow,  now  gradually  emerging,  and  racing  up  the  opposite  hill — 
a  process  repeated  two  or  three  times,  till  the  whole  cavalcade  was 
finally  lost  in  the  distance,  or  seen  halting  upon  some  eminence 
that  overhung  the  ocean.' 

When  the  field  sports  were  over,  the  invited  spectators 
returned  to  St.  Albans  House,  where  music,  singing,  a  grand 
banquet,  and  dancing,  concluded  the  festivities  of  the  busy 
day.  Another  fault  which  the  Duchess  had  to  find  with 
the  denizens  of  the  high  society  in  which  she  now  moved 
was  their  fondness  for  late  hours.  The  hour  of  meeting 
was  not  only  specified,  but  always  underlined  on  her 
invitation  cards;  but  as  many  guests  were  in  the  habit  of 
going  to  two  or  three  other  parties  before  they  put  in  an 
appearance  at  hers,  she  was  sometimes  kept  up  a  great  deal 
later  than  suited  either  her  temper  or  her  health.  On  one 
occasion,  annoyed  at  the  emptiness  of  her  rooms  two  or 
three  hours  after  the  prescribed  time  of  assemblage,  and 
knowing  from  former  experience  that  there  would  be  a  great 
crowd  of  late-comers,  she  gave  orders  for  the  street  door  to 
be  shut,  and  no  more  visitors  admitted  that  night.  Presently 
a  party  of  cavalry  officers  arrived,  and  receiving  no  answer 
to  repeated  knocks  of  the  usual  kind,  began  to  batter 
with  the  hilts  of  their  swords  on  the  door.  Carriage  after 
carriage   drove   up,   without   being   able   to    set    down   its 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  485 

occnpants,  and  before  long  the  whole  street  was  full  of 
belated  guests.  She  would  have  stood  the  siege  all  night 
long,  she  declared,  but  that  some  of  the  more  artful  of  her 
excluded  visitors  bribed  the  servants  to  let  them  down  the 
area  steps,  and  by  passing  through  the  offices  and  up  the 
kitchen  stairs  obtained  access  to  the  drawing-room,  when 
she  considered  it  best  to  surrender  at  discretion.  Accordino- 
to  the  Brighton  literary  gentleman,  her  Grace's  notions  of 
amusement  were  not  of  a  particularly  intellectual  character. 
In  disguises,  comic  recitations  and  songs,  jests,  imitations, 
jugglers,  and  ventriloquists,  she  took  great  delight ;  and  she 
would  have  Rice  down  from  London  to  black  his  face  and 
sing  that  popular  but  intensely  stupid  song  of  Jim  Crow. 
But  it  is  less  for  this  kind  of  thing  than  for  the  account  of 
several  little  private  talks  he  had  with  her  that  his  re- 
miniscences are  valuable.  One  day  when  he  had  been 
dining  at  St.  Albans  House,  the  Duchess  beckoned  him 
from  the  drawing-room  into  an  inner  apartment,  and 
despatched  one  of  her  pages  for  a  particular  casket. 

'  On  opening  it  she  took  out  some  papers,  which  she  placed  in 
my  hands,  saying  that  she  wished  me  to  read  them.  They  were 
letters  of  considerable  length  from  her  late  husband,  Mr.  Coutts, 
alluding  to  the  many  and  unjustifiable  attempts  that  had  been 
made  to  alienate  his  affections  from  her,  which  he  vehemently 
condemned,  while  he  poured  forth  a  fervent  and  most  exalted 
eulogium  upon  herself,  not  only  declaring  her  whole  conduct  to 
have  been  irreproachable,  but  plainly  intimating,  as  it  appeared  to 
me,  the  perfect  purity  of  her  life,  when,  from  her  sudden  enrich- 
ment and  other  circumstances,  a  contrary  impression  had  been 
produced  upon  the  public  mind." 

When  he  remarked  that  such  documents  must  be  a  most 
valuable  solace  to  her,  she  informed  him  that  she  never 
travelled  without  them;  and  whenever  vexed  or  annoyed, 
the  perusal  of  them,  though  for  the  hundredth  time,  would 
bring  her  comfort   and   peace.      After   then   singino-    the 


486  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

praises  of  the  late  Mr.  Coutts  for  some  time,  she  said,  '  I 
will  now  show  you  what  I  have  done  for  his  family.' 

'She  then  drew  from  the  casket  a  small  manuscript  book,  in 
which  were  inserted  the  names  of  the  several  relatives,  the  sums 
she  had  paid  them  annually,  and  the  total  to  which  these  payments 
amounted  in  the  eleven  years  that  had  then  elapsed  since  the 
death  of  Mr.  Coutts.  The  gross  amount,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  was 
about  £335,000  !  I  know  that  I  calculated  it  at  £30,000  a  year. 
Her  Grace  then  spoke  in  the  most  affectionate  terms  of  Miss 
Ant^ela  Burdett,  declaring  that  she  had  been  singulai'ly  fortunate 
in  her  baptismal  appellation,  since  she  was  truly  angelic  by  nature 
as  Avell  as  by  name.' 

The  gross  amount  of  these  benefactions  seems  to  have  taken 
the  Brighton  literary  gentleman's  breath  away ;  but  we  must 
bear  in  mind  that  the  money  was  given  to  the  children  of 
the  man  who  had  bequeathed  what  most  people  regarded  as 
their  fortunes  to  her;  that  it  involved  no  sacrifice  on  her 
part,  because  she  could  not  possibly  feel  the  loss  of  any 
such  sum ;  and  that  it  left  her  with  an  income  at  least  five 
times  as  great  as  any  ordinary  person  (even  among  those 
brought  up  to  the  use  of  wealth)  can  manage  to  spend 
without  doing  a  great  deal  of  mischief. 

In  June  1837  she  had  a  severe  illness  of  a  nervous  char- 
acter, and  all  visitors  were  interdicted  from  the  house  in 
Stratton  Street.  One  day  she  asked  to  be  taken  to  Holly 
Lodge  in  the  carriage  which  had  driven  Mr.  Coutts  there  for 
the  last  time.  Then,  after  being  drawn  in  his  pony-chair 
round  every  walk  and  alley  of  the  place,  she  desired  to  be 
taken  back  to  Stratton  Street.  When  one  day  towards  the 
end  of  July  she  observed  that  her  bed  had  been  placed  in  the 
laro-e  drawing-room  downstairs  in  order  to  give  her  the 
benefit  of  more  air,  she  requested  to  be  taken  up  again,  that 
she  mi^ht  die  on  the  bed  where  Tom  Coutts  had  breathed 
his  last ;  and  there,  on  the  6th  of  August  1837,  she  died. 
With  the  exception  of  an  annuity  of  £10,000,  together  with 


HARRIOT  MELLON  (DUCHESS  OF  ST.  ALBANS)  437 

a  legacy  of  £10,000  and  two  of  her  houses  to  the  Duke  of 
St.  Albans,  and  a  number  of  ample  though  comparatively 
insignificant  leQ:acies  and  annuities  to  relations  and  servants, 
she  bequeathed  the  whole  of  her  great  fortune  to  her  niece 
Angela,  the  lady  since  so  well  known  to  two  generations  as 
the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts.  Her  last  will  and  testament 
contained  one  or  two  indications  of  her  domineering  spirit 
and  whimsical  animosity.  Failing  Angela  Burdett,  or  a  son 
to  succeed  her,  the  whole  of  the  fortune  was  to  devolve  upon 
that  lady's  sister  Johanna;  failing  Johanna  or  a  son  to 
succeed  her,  upon  another  sister,  Clara ;  faihng  Clara,  or  a 
son  to  succeed  her,  upon  Dudley  Coutts  Marjoribanks;  fail- 
him,  or  a  son  to  succeed  him,  upon  Coutts  Lindsay;  and 
failing  him,  or  a  son  to  succeed  him,  upon  the  partners  for 
the  time  being  in  Coutts's  banking  house.  But  if  any  of 
these  beneficiaries  failed  to  take  within  six  months  the 
name  of  Coutts,  or  if  any  of  them  married  an  alien,  their 
inheritance  was  to  be  forfeit.  And  with  regard  to  her 
husband,  the  Duke,  it  was  stipulated  that  if  he  should 
permit  his  uncle.  Lord  Amelius  Beauclerk,  or  any  of  his 
family,  or  either  of  the  Duke's  brothers— Lord  Frederick  or 
Lord  Charles  Beauclerk — or  either  of  their  families,  to  reside 
with  him  in  either  of  the  houses  devised  to  him  by  this  will, 
or  in  any  other  house  inhabited  by  him  for  the  time  being, 
for  the  space  of  one  week  (either  at  one  time  or  at  several 
distinct  times)  in  any  one  year,  then  the  Duke  was  to  be 
deprived  of  his  annuity  and  legacies  '  as  if  he  were  dead.' 
It  cannot  be  said  that  the  Duchess  made  a  particularly  ill 
use  of  her  wealth  while  living ;  and  she  certainly  did  an  act 
of  justice  by  restoring  it  at  her  death  to  the  family  of  the 
man  from  whom  she  had  received  it.  James  Boaden  aptly 
summed  up  both  her  private  and  her  professional  career  in 
the  remark  that,  had  Mrs.  Jordan  never  appeared.  Miss  Mellon 
might  have  risen  to  the  front  rank  as  an  actress ;  and  that 


438  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 

she  did  rise  to  the  front  rank  in  private  life  by  reason  of  her 
uncommon  sagacity.  Mrs.  Baron-Wilson  made  a  mistake 
in  demanding  our  admiration  for  the  Duchess's  habitual 
grammatical  precision  of  speech,  for  her  exquisite  and 
'  surprising '  taste  in  the  fine  arts,  for  her  deep  reading  (in 
magazines  !),  and  for  the  good  breeding  which,  we  are  told, 
was  commended  by  his  fastidious  Majesty  George  the  Fourth. 
She  was  by  no  means  faultless ;  but  if  it  must  be  admitted 
that  she  was  wilful,  haughty,  hasty-tempered,  absurdly 
superstitious,  and  a  little  more  vindictive  than  was  quite 
consistent  with  her  somewhat  ostentatious  piety,  on  the 
credit  side  it  must  be  set  down  that  she  was  a  dutiful  and 
affectionate  daughter  to  a  very  trying  mother,  a  generous 
friend,  a  charitable  and  at  the  same  time  discriminating 
helper  of  all  who  were  in  distress ;  and,  for  the  rest,  a  cheer- 
ful, witty,  high-spirited,  unaffected  woman,  who  knew  how 
to  make  herself  respected  in  the  early  days  of  her  poverty, 
and  who  certainly  did  no  discredit  to  the  high  station  in 
society  to  which  she  afterwards  happened  to  be  raised. 


THE   END 


INDEX 


Abington,  Fkances,  pedigree,  200; 
blackmailed,  201  ;  revelation  of 
early  dissoluteness,  202  ;  birth  and 
parentage,  203  ;  early  ways  of 
earning  living,  203-4 ;  first  ap- 
pearance on  stage,  204  ;  marriage, 
205;  visit  to  Dublin  and  extra- 
ordinary success,  205-7 ;  liason 
with  Mr.  Needham,  207  ;  reappear- 
ance at  Drury  Lane  and  rapid 
rise,  209;  various  lovers,  211; 
squabbles  with  Garrick,  212-22 ; 
a  favourite  in  society,  220  ;  news- 
paper paragraphs,  222-3 ;  in- 
fluence on  fashions  and  manners, 
223 ;  acquaintance  with  Horace 
Walpole,  224  ;  removal  to  Covent 
Garden,  224-5 ;  characteristic 
merits,  226 ;  well-preserved  ap- 
pearance, 227-S ;  retirement  from 
stage,  228;  later  life,  229-30. 
See  also  83,  243,  245,  260,  262, 
272. 

Actors  and  Actresses,  status  of,  in 
eighteenth  century,  1-5. 

Audiences,  behaviour  of,  in  eighteenth 
century,  11-22. 


Baddeley,  Robert,  234,  236,  253-4. 

Sophia,       her       extraordinary 

beauty,  231  ;  authorship  and 
authenticity  of  her  Memoirs, 
232-4 ;  birth,  marriage,  and  first 
appearance  on  stage,  234  ;  a  singer 
at  Ranelagh,  235  ;  separation  from 


husband,  235-6 ;  numerous  lovers, 
237-9;  liason  with  Lord  Mel- 
bourne, 240-1  ;  abandonment  of 
stage,  241  ;  riotous  living,  242-4 ; 
visit  to  Paris  and  offer  from 
French  king,  246  ;  diversions,  247  ; 
coolness  of  Lord  Melbourne  and 
trouble  with  creditors,  248-9 ; 
liason  with  a  city  sheriff,  250-1  ; 
re-appearance  at  Drury  Lane,  251  ; 
other  engagements,  252  ;  poverty 
and  death,  253.     See  also  16,  282. 

Baron-Wilson,  Mrs.  Cornwall,  268, 
269,  399,  413,  414,  415,  416,  418, 
419,  423,  438. 

Barrett,  Patrick,  19-21. 

Barrington,  Sir  Jonah,  368,  374,  377, 
378,  383,  389,  390,  395. 

Barry,  Mrs.,  218,  219. 

Barton,  John,  387,  388,  389,  391, 
394. 

Beard,  John,  3,  4,  57,  63. 

Beef-steak  Club,  19,  75,  128,  129, 
227. 

'  Beggar's  Opera,'  The,  8-9  ;  34-37. 

Bellamy,  George  Anne,  her  mother's 
adventures,  142-5;  birth,  146; 
education  by  Lord  Tyrawley, 
146-8  ;  return  to  her  mother,  149  ; 
first  appearance  on  stage,  1 49-50 ; 
patronised  by  Duchess  of  Queens- 
berry,  151-2;  Quin's  friendship, 
152 ;  abducted  by  Lord  Byron, 
153-4;  engagement  in  Dublin  and 
Irish  society,  155-6  ;  disputes  with 
Garrick,  156-7  ;  Mrs.  Furnival's 
439 


440  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 


revenge,  158-9 ;  the  beautiful 
Gunnings,  160-3  ;  Covent  Garden, 
163 ;  reconciliation  with  Lord 
Tyrawley,  164;  various  lovers, 
165;  elopement  with  George  Met- 
ham,  166;  extravagance,  167;  a 
faro  bank,  169 ;  at  Drury  Lane, 
169 ;  separation  from  Metham, 
171  ;  liason  with  John  Calcraft, 
172-84 ;  quarrels  with  Peg 
WoflBngton,  173-4 ;  intellectual 
culture,  175  ;  quarrel  with  Mrs. 
Hamilton,  17S-9;  borrowing 
money,  180;  loss  of  a  fortune, 
180-1 ;  separation  from  Calcraft, 
182  ;  engagement  in  Dublin,  185- 
6;  liason  with  Digges,  187  ;  flight 
to  Edinburgh,  187  ;  more  borrow- 
ing, 188-9;  temporary  reconcilia- 
tion with  Metham,  190 ;  return  to 
London,  191  ;  housekeeper  to 
Count  Haslang,  191  ;  her  brother 
O'Hara,  192-94;  connection  with 
Woodward,  194;  more  stage 
quarrels,  195-6;  attempted  suicide, 
196;  in  the  King's  Bench,  197; 
her  Apology  iiublished,  197 ;  final 
Benefit,  197-8 ;  poverty  of  last 
days,  198-9.  See  also  126,  132, 
232,  316. 
Bernard,  John,  19-22,  24,  227-8  ; 
231,  257,  315,  318,  325,  326,  327, 
354,  355,  361. 
Bicknell,  Alexander,  141,  197,  233, 

234. 
Bland,  Mrs.,  407. 

Boaden,  James,  91,  213,  224,  225, 
231,  233,  260,  266,  270,  271,  313, 
356,  367,  368,  369,  377,  378,  379, 
384,  386,  393,  397,  437. 
Bolton,  Duchess  of  (see  Fenton, 
Lavinia). 

Duke  of,  5,  38,  39,  40. 

Burdett-Coutts,   the   Baroness,   436, 
437. 


Butler,   the    Hon.    Mrs.,    156,    157, 

168. 
Byron,  Lord,  152,  154,  163-4. 

Calcraft,  John,  170,  171,  172,  174, 
175,  176,  179-84,  192. 

Camp,  Miss  de,  407. 

Chesterfield,  Earl  of,  8,  148,  159. 

Chetwood,  William  K,  75,  76,  149. 

Cholmondeley,  the  Hon.  Mrs.,  112, 
136-7,  138,  139,  140. 

Charke,  Charlotte,  birth  and  educa- 
tion, 42-4 ;  early  escapades,  43-4  ; 
contempt  for  womanly  occupations, 
45 ;  amateur  doctoring,  46-7 ; 
gardener  and  groom,  47-8  ;  mar- 
riage, 50 ;  separation  from  hus- 
band, 51  ;  first  appearance  on 
stage,  51  ;  quarrel  with  manager, 
52 ;  opens  shop  as  grocer,  53  ; 
opens  puppet-show,  53  ;  mysterious 
connection  with  unnamed  gentle- 
man, and  assumption  of  male 
attire,  55  ;  living  on  charity,  56- 
7  ;  odd  jobs  at  minor  theatres,  57- 
8 ;  strolling  in  male  attire  and 
offer  of  marriage  from  a  lady,  59- 
60 ;  engaged  as  valet  to  a  Lord, 
62  ;  hawker  of  sausages,  63  ;  opens 
public  house,  64-5  ;  more  strolling, 
65  ;  turns  pastrycook,  66  ;  returns 
to  London  and  takes  to  literature, 
67 ;  stories  about  estrangement 
from  father,  68-70 ;  squalor  of 
later  days,  71-2  ;  death,  72. 

Gibber,  CoUey,  3,  5,  9,  11,  34,  42, 
50,  51,  68-70,  72,  126,  272. 

Susannah,  26,  57,  77,  118,  126, 

131,  163,  169,  235. 

Theophilus,  42,  52,  55,  61,  65, 

75,  204. 

Clarence,  Duke  of  (see  William  iv.). 

Clive,  Catherine,  birth  and  parentage, 
74, early  days;  75  ;  first  appearance 
on  stage  and   immediate  success. 


INDEX 


441 


75-6 ;  marriage,  76 ;  separation 
from  husband,  77 ;  quarrels  with 
performers,  77-8  ;  visit  to  Dublin, 
78 ;  revolt  from  Drury  Lane,  79  ; 
her  '  case '  submitted  to  the  public, 
79-82 ;  engagement  at  Covent  Gar- 
den, 80 ;  squabbles  with  Garrick, 
83-85 ;  her  farce  llie  Rehearsal, 
85-87  ;  her  Sketch  of  a  Fine  Lady''s 
Botit,  87-8 ;  quarrels  with  Peg 
Woffington,  88-9 ;  quarrel  witli 
Shuter,  89-90  ;  acrimonious  corres- 
pondence with  Garrick,  91-94 ; 
retiremeut  from  stage,  94-96  ; 
friendship  with  Horace  Walpole, 
97-99  ;  card-playing,  100-1 ;  later 
correspondence  with  Garrick,  101- 
5 ;  life  at  Twickenham,  99-101  ; 
1U6,  107-8  ;  death,  108.  See  also 
26,  52,  126,  132,  163,  204,  209, 
224. 

Cobbett,  William,  376. 

Collier,  Jeremy,  7. 

Colman,  George,  196,  260,  266,  267. 

Comedy  in  the  Eighteenth  Century, 
8-9. 

Coutts,  Thomas,  400,  401,  408,  412, 
413,414  415,416,417,420,421, 
422,  423,  427,  435,  436. 

Crouch,  Mrs.,  405,  407. 

Cumberland,  Duke  of,  291. 

Richard,  212,  213. 


Daly,  Augustin,  111,  116,  117,  120, 

124,  127,  128,  132,  138,  139,  140. 
Richard,  21,  341,  358,  359,361, 

371,  377. 
Davies,  Thomas,  88,  91,  94,  97,  118, 

128,  131,  209,  210. 
Derby,   Elizabeth,    Countess  of   (see 

Farren,  Elizabeth). 
Earl  of,  5,  255,  262,  263,  264, 

265,  266,  268,  270,  271,  415. 
Dibdin,  Charles,  223. 


Digges,  West,  21,  186,  187,  188,  191. 
Doran,  Dr.,  12,  138,  140,  257,  313. 

Elmy,  Mrs.,  26. 

Fakren,  Elizabeth  (Countess  of 
Derby),  inadequate  biographies, 
255 ;  her  father,  256-8 ;  early 
days  and  strolling,  259  ;  first  ap- 
pearance on  London  stage,  260 ; 
admiration  of  Charles  James  Fox, 
260-1  ;  acquaintances  in  high 
society,  262,  264  ;  Earl  of  Derby 
pays  attentions,  262-3  ;  marriage 
bond  with  Lord  Derby,  264 ;  the 
Earl's  constancy,  265-6  ;  acting  on 
northern  circuit,  266 ;  propriety 
of  conduct,  267-8  ;  disputes  with 
managers,  269  ;  farewell  to  stage, 
270-1 ;  her  style  and  powers,  272-3. 
See  also  5,  16,  197,  226,  311,  319, 
364,  405,  407,  408,  415. 

Margaret,  259,  260,  266. 

Mr.  (father  of  Elizabeth),  256-8. 

Fenton,  Lavinia  (Duchess  of  Bolton), 
early  biography  of,  27-8  ;  birth, 
28  ;  early  adventures,  29-30 ;  in- 
troduction to  stage  and  immediate 
success,  31  ;  billets  to,  31-2  ;  at 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  Theatre,  32  ; 
engaged  by  Rich,  32 ;  treatment 
of  admirers,  33 ;  her  wit,  34 ; 
sudden  celebrity  as  Polly  in  The 
Beggar^s  Opera,  37-8 ;  salary 
raised,  39 ;  taken  from  stage  by 
Duke  of  Bolton,  39 ;  married  to 
the  Duke,  40 ;  death,  40 ;  char- 
acter, 40-1.     See  also  5,  8. 

Fielding,  Henry,  9,  53,  109. 

Sir  John,  9. 

Fitzherbert,  Mrs.,  357. 

Foote,  Samuel,  3,  17,  174,  234. 

Footmen's  Gallery  in  theatres,  14. 

Ford,  Richard,  368,  369,  370,  377. 

Fox,  Charles  James,  260-1,  304,  305. 


442  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 


Furnival,  Mrs.,  156,  157-9. 
Fuseli,  Henry,  422,  423. 

Garrick,  David,  3,  8,  11,  15,  57, 
79,  83,  84,  85,  91-5,  101-5,  122-5, 
139,  156-7,  163,  170,  176,  199, 
205,  209,  212-22,  230,  235,  241, 
251,  279,  290,  316,  367. 

Gay,  John,  34,  35,  37,  38,  39. 

George  ii.,  7. 

III.,    292,    303-4,    327-9,   337, 

370. 

IV.,   236,    274,   284,   293,   294, 

295,  296,  297,  298,  299,  300,  301, 
302,  303,  304,  306,  307,  308,  310, 
357,  375,  376,  393,  438. 

Goodall,  Mrs.,  407. 

Gordon,  Pryce,  358,  359. 

Greville,  Charles,  373,  383,  384,  392. 

Gronow,  Captain,  384. 

Gunnings,  'the  beautiful,'  160-3. 

Hamilton,  Mrs.,  178-9. 

Hanger,  The  Hon.  John  (afterwards 

Lord    Coleraine),    237,    238,    239, 

240,  241,  248,  249. 
Haslang,  Count,  169,  174,  191,  192, 

194. 
Hawkins,  Sir  John,  106. 
Laetitia,    106,   289,    300,    301, 

305,  308,  309. 
Hazlitt,  William,  267,  356,  366. 
Herbert,  Lady  Henrietta,  3-4. 
Herschell,  Dr.  S.,  231. 
Hitchcock,    Robert,    112,   113,   114, 

116,  119,  128,  130. 
Huish,  Robert,  275,  304-5,  356. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  356,  366. 

Inchbald,  Mrs.,  17,  267,  320-1. 

Jekyll,  Joseph,  392-3. 

Jordan,  Dora,  birth  and  parentage, 
357  ;  debut  in  Dublin,  358  ;  flight 
to  York  and  engagement  by  Tate 


Wilkinson,  359 ;  adopts  the  name 
of  Jordan,  361  ;  first  appearance 
in  London,  362  ;  rapid  success, 
363-4 ;  fascination  as  an  actress, 
364-8  ;  connection  with  Richard 
Ford,  368 ;  becomes  mistress  of 
Duke  of  Clarence,  369  ;  newspaper 
gossip,  372  ;  life  at  Bushy  as  quasi 
Duchess,  373-6  ;  her  semi-royal 
family,  376-7 ;  her  professional 
success,  378  ;  converting  a  Metho- 
dist preacher,  380-2  ;  separation 
from  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  382-5  ; 
domestic  troubles,  385-6  ;  mystery 
of  her  later  days,  387  ;  official 
account  of  the  Duke's  settlement 
on  her,  387-89;  difficulty  of  re- 
conciling this  with  facts,  391-2  ; 
whether  the  Duke  kept  Mrs. 
Jordan,  or  she  kept  him,  393-5  ; 
account  of  her  last  illness  and 
death,  395-6  ;  said  to  have  been 
seen  in  London  after  this,  397 ; 
Wilham  iv.'s  veneration  for  her 
memory,  398.  See  also  17,  229, 
312,  327,  406,  407,  410,  411. 

Jackson  (strolling  manager),  22. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  3,  109,  122,  137,  176-7, 
219-20. 

Kelly,  Michael,  9,  15,  16,  354. 
Kemble,  John,  364. 
Kennedy,  Mrs.,  189. 
Knight,  Joseph,  185. 
Kynaston     (performer    of     women's 
parts),  6. 

Lamb,  Charles,  365,  366. 
Lyttelton  ( '  the  wicked  Lord  '),  283, 
285,  286,  289. 

Macklin,  Charles,  8,  15,  79,  119, 

120,  122,  125,  139. 
Macready,  Charles,  364,  366. 
Maiden,    Lord   (afterwards    Earl    of 


INDEX 


443 


Essex),  293,    296,  297,  298,  302, 
303. 

Marie  Antoinette,  307-8,  339. 

Mathews,  Charles,  12,  14,  398. 

Mrs.  Charles,  260,  262,  267. 

Mellon,  Harriot  ( Duchess  of  St.  Albans) , 
birth  and  parentage,  400  ;  meagre 
education,  401  ;  first  appearance  on 
boards  at  age  of  ten,  401 ;  strolling, 
402-3  ;  engagement  at  Drury  Lane, 
405 ;  advancement  in  her  profes- 
sion, 406  ;  personal  appearance  and 
charm,  406-7  ;  profitable  provincial 
engagements,  407-8  ;  friendship 
with  Mrs.  Siddons,  408  ;  continued 
success,  410-11  ;  acr|uaiiitance  with 
Thomas  Coutts,  412;  her  mother's 
attentions  to  the  old  banker,  414-15; 
agreement  for  a  deferred  marriage, 
415 ;  private  marriage  to  Coutts, 
419  ;  reason  for  suddenly  leaving 
the  stage,  419-20  ;  imblic  acknow- 
ledgment of  marriage,  420  ;  Mrs. 
Coutts  at  Holly  Lodge,  421-2  ;  her 
superstitions,  424-6 ;  death  of 
Coutts,  427  ;  courtship  of  the  Duke 
of  St.  Albans,  428-31  ;  marriage  to 
the  Duke,  432;  the  Duchess  at 
Brighton,  432-5  ;  her  death,  436  ; 
disposition  of  her  fortune,  436-7. 
See  also  5,  16,  23,  268. 

Melbourne,  Lord,  239,  240,  241,  243, 
248,  249. 

Metham,  Sir  George,  152,  165,  166, 
167,  168,  171,  172,  190,  191,  192. 

Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  3-4. 

More,  Hannah,  104,  322. 

Mossop,  Henry,  182,  185,  186,  187, 
206. 

Mountford,  William,  2, 

Murphy,  Arthur,  118,  122,  123,  137, 
202,  203,  204,  207,  279. 

O'Brien,  William  (actor),  4. 
O'Hara,  Lieut.i  153,  154,  164,  192-4. 


O'Hara,  Miss,  155,  156,  164. 
O'Keefe,  John,  185,  .355. 
Oldfield,  Ann,  51,  209,  272. 
Orleans,  Duke  of,  307. 

Palmerston,  Lord,  239. 

'  Pasquin,  Anthony,'  326. 

Pepys,  Samuel,  6-7. 

'Petronius    Arbiter,'    25,   255,    257, 

258,  259,  262,  263,  265. 
'  Pindar,  Peter,'  314,  384. 
Pope,  Alexander,  8,  35,  148. 
Miss,  103-4,  108,  218,  325,  405, 

410. 
Powell,  Mrs.,  405,  407. 
Pritchard,   Mrs.,  94,   126,   163,  204, 

209. 

QUEENSBERRY,  DUCHESS  OF,  151-2. 

Quin,  Richard,  12,  78,  118,  12.3,  126, 
132,  149,  150,  152,  164,  166,  169, 
199. 

Reade,  Charles,  110,  HI,  116, 132 
138. 

Reynolds,  Frederick,  99-101,  198, 
199,  321,  329,  330,  331,  332,  333, 
334,  335,  336,  337,  338,  339,  340, 
342,  349. 

Sir  Joshua,  137,  219,  364. 

Rich,  John,  9,  34,  37,  38,  39,  57, 
115,  131,  133,  149,  150,  163,  178. 

Robinson,  Henry  Crabb,  229. 

Mary  ('Perdita'),  not  so  inno- 
cent as  usually  painted,  274 ;  her 
autobiography  largely  fictitious, 
274-5  ;  pedigree,  275  ;  birth  and 
education,  276-7  ;  father's  peculiar 
conduct,  278  ;  marriage,  279  ;  story 
of  husband's  relations,  281-2  ;  gay 
life  in  London,  282-3 ;  dealings 
with  Jew  moneylender,  2S4-5 ; 
extravagance  and  dissipation,  285- 
87  ;  flight  into  Wales  from  Credi- 
tors, 288 ;  in  the  King's  Bench, 
289  ;   appearance   and   success  on 


444  COMEDY  QUEENS  OF  THE  GEORGIAN  ERA 


stage,  290  ;  noticed  by  Prince  of 
Wales,  293  ;  '  Florizel's '  letters  to 
'Perdita,'  293-95  ;  liason  with  the 
Prince,  296-301 ;  her  account  of 
their  separation,  302-3 ;  liason  with 
Colonel  Tarleton,  306-7,  308-9; 
visit  to  Paris,  307-8 ;  paralysis, 
308-9  ;  her  literary  career,  310-13  ; 
last  days  and  death,  313-14. 

Ross,  David,  177,  178. 

Kutland,  Duke  of,  291,  292, 

St.  Albans,  Duke  of,  428,  429,  430, 
431,  432,  434,  437. 

'  Secret  History  of  the  Green  Room,' 
203,  205,  208,  211,  227. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  428,  429,  430,  431. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  223, 289, 
290,  291,  403,  404,  405,  406. 

Thomas,    126,    127,    129,    158, 

163. 

Shuter,  Edward,  89-90. 

Siddons,  Elizabeth,  226,  266,  267, 
315,  319,  327,  362,  364,  367,  405, 
407,  408. 

Steele,  Elizabeth,  232,  233,  234,  236, 
237,  238,  239,  240,  244,  245,  246, 
247,  248,  249,  250,  251,  252,  254. 

Strangeways,  Lady  Susan,  4. 

Stanton's  itinerant  company,  23,  402. 

Strolling  Players,  23-25. 

Swan,  Cornelius,  360,  361. 

Swiuuy,  Owen  M',  128-9. 

Swift,  Dean,  8,  34,  38,  39. 

Sumbel,  Mary  ('  Becky '  Wells),  birth 
and  parentage,  316  ;  first  appear- 
ance on  stage  at  Bath,  317  ;  stroll- 
ing and  marriage,  317  ;  husband's 
disappearance,  318 ;  success  at 
Exeter  producing  engagement  in 
London,  318 ;  increasing  popu- 
larity, 320 ;  liaison  with  Colonel 
Topham,  321-325  ;  assistant  editor 
of  The  World,  323-325  ;  ineflfectual 
pursuit  of  George   iii.,   327-8 ;  a 


troublesome  brother-in-law,  329 ; 
adventures  in  England  and  France 
with  Frederick  Reynolds,  330-4  ; 
confinement  in  lunatic  asylum,  335- 
S  ;  adventures  at  Lynn,  338-40  ; 
again  in  lunatic  asylum,  341  ;  in 
the  King's  Bench,  341  ;  becomes  a 
Jewess  in  order  to  marry  Sumbel, 
343-4;  jealousyof  the  Moor,  345-6; 
peculiar  divorce,  347-8  ;  inter- 
mittent engagements,  349 ;  inter- 
course with  her  daughters  inter- 
dicted, 350 ;  publication  of  her 
Memoirs,  351  ;  journey  to  Scot- 
land, 353 ;  attempt  to  walk  back 
to  Loudon,  353  ;  re-conversion  to 
Christianity,  354 ;  another  mar- 
riage, 355 ;  last  glimpse  of  her, 
355.     See  also  267,  410. 

Tarleton,  Colonel,  306,  307,  308, 
309-10,  313. 

Taylor,  John,  83,  201,  202,  203, 
207-8,  228,  230,  313,  379-80. 

Theatre,  of  the  Restoration,  6-7 ; 
provincial  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, 10-11,  16-22;  audience  on 
the  stage,  11-12  ;  spitting  into  the 
pit,  12  ;  riots  and  disturbances,  13, 
14,  15,  79. 

Topham,  Colonel,  97,  321,  322,  323, 
324,  325,  326,  327,  329,  330,  336, 
338,  341,  350. 

Tyrawley,  Lord,  137,  143,  144,  145, 
146,  147,  148,  149,  150,  164,  165, 
167,  172,  192,  194,  199. 

Victor,  Benjamin,  126,  130. 
Victoria,  Queen,  394-95. 

Walpole,  Horace,  3,  4,  8,  40,  41, 
83,  96,  97,  98,  99,  105,  106,  107, 
108,  118,  121,  130,  137,  147,  211- 
12,  223,  224,  263-4,  268,  272, 
305. 


INDEX 


445 


Walpole,  Sir  Hobert,  9,  10,  36. 

Wells,  *  Becky,'  (see  Sumbel,  Mary). 

Wilkes,  John,  116, 

Wilkinson,  Tate,  17,  18,  19,  25-6, 
83,  84,  87,  109,  131,  133,  134,  135, 
138,  139,  141,  161,  185,  197,  199, 
■205,  206,  233,  252,  259,  266,  317, 
359-60,  361,  362,  380. 

William  iv.,356,  357,  369,  370,  372, 
373,  374,  375-6,  382,  383,  384, 
385,  387,  388,  389,  391,  392,  393, 
394,  397-8. 

Williams,  Sir  Charles  Hanbury,  121. 

Willis,  Dr.  Francis,  315,  335,  |336, 
340,  341. 

Woffiugton,  Mary  (see  Cholmondeley, 
the  Hon.  Mrs.). 

Margaret,  the  Peg  Woffington 

of  fiction,  110-11  ;  birth  and  early 
days,  111-12;  first  appearance  on 
stage,  113;  early  success  in  Dublin, 
113-14;  irregular  life,  114-15  ;  en- 


gagement at  Covent  Garden  and 
success  in  London,  115-16  ;  at 
Drury  Lane,  117-18  ;  successful 
visit  to  Dublin,  118;  liason  with 
Garrick,  118;  other  lovers,  119-21, 
123-4  ;  housekeeping  with  Garrick, 
122-5;  again  at  Covent  Garden, 
126 ;  return  to  Dublin  and  height 
of  popularity,  126-8  ;  change  of 
religion,  128-9 ;  Covent  Garden 
once  more,  1 30 ;  characteristics, 
130-2;  quarrels,  132-3;  last  ap- 
pearance on  stage,  134-5  ;  her 
sister  Mary,  136-7;  last  days  not 
edifying,  138-40.  See  also  57, 
88-9,  163,  166,  173-4,  178,  209. 

Woodward,  Henry,  90,  191, 194,206. 

Wright,  Rev.  William,  369. 

Wynn,  Miss  Frances  Williams,  265. 

Yates,  Mrs.,  197,  216,  290. 
Yonge,  Miss,  221,  226. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


UNIVEESITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
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MAI    ^  i^'^* 


UAH  10  ^92S 

DEC  20  1S29 
JAN   3"  1930 


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